


Glass Compass

by windyfiend



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Character Development, Elijah Kamski Created Deviants, Enemies to Friends, Everything is terrible, Existential Crisis, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies, Friendship, Gen, Hank Anderson is Great at his Job, Kara is the First Deviant and It Matters, LEDs are permanent, Machine Connor Redemption Arc (Detroit: Become Human), Markus Has No Idea What He's Doing But He's Trying, Minor Character Death, Minor Discussions of Suicide, Moral Ambiguity, Multi-Era Technology, Platonic Relationships, Steam Trains and Hoverbikes (just because I can!), This Is Not The Same Story, Trauma-Free Deviancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 82
Words: 162,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windyfiend/pseuds/windyfiend
Summary: In a world without invention, the people of Detroit depend upon the ancient and fabled Tower to improve their way of life. Sixteen years ago, a boy named Elijah became Keeper of the Tower, and new innovations were bestowed upon the city for the first time in centuries -- except, when radios and steam trains were still the peak of technology, Elijah offered only one advancement: androids.Tonight, the fate of Detroit changes forever. An old artist adopts a machine as his son while a father loses his child. Elijah flees the Tower and Amanda takes his place by force. The planets align, the moon is eclipsed, and a new definition of life is born. Her name is Kara.





	1. Syzygy

**OCTOBER 11, 2034**

The lunar eclipse had already begun when Carl heard a knock at his door.

He looked up with red-stung eyes and saw ghosts dancing on the candlelit walls. Maybe they had finally come to take him, he thought: they were done tormenting him, bored with his stubborn refusal to feel anything.

The knock came again, patient and persistent.

Maybe it was the cops. The new lieutenant had mobilized the city like a pack of bloodhounds, sniffing out the last traces of red ice even if it meant running down an old man in the middle of the night while he was smoking away his sorrows.

He set down the hot glass pipe, wheezed a smoky cough and waved away the stench of burnt sugar. 

“Who’s there!” Carl demanded.

“Elijah Kamski sent me,” came the muffled reply.

The name ran cold down his spine.

Carl had waited eleven years for a word from Elijah. ‘Hello’ would have done fine, or even ‘Goodbye’-- but ‘Sorry’ was the one Carl deserved.

And now Elijah couldn’t be bothered to come say it himself.

Carl unlatched the locks one by one then pulled the door open a crack. On the other side stood a familiar figure he’d met once before, on a day that only a lethal dose of red ice could purge from his nightmares.

“Hello, Carl,” said the visitor with a mechanical smile and an LED that twirled bright as the betraying moon. “My name is Markus.”

 

* * *

 

Hank opened his bleary eyes, tried to sit up and dropped back again with a hiss and a grit of teeth. His whole body was on fire with pain, shattered and useless, a tenderized sack of broken bones that existed to torment him.

The bleached hospital sheets scratched rough in his fists. An electronic, infernal beeping pounded in his head. A machine whirred at his ear and the lights burned too-bright white.

What happened?

Morphine sludged his brain. He remembered ice cream, chocolate and peanut butter, a sticky smear all over Cole’s grinning face while he swung his feet, dripping chocolate on his Superman costume.

He remembered Bohemian Rhapsody on the radio, Cole yelling some butchered version of the lyrics while Hank cried laughing, and Cole stood up in the passenger seat to reach for the volume knob and Hank took a hand off the wheel (“Sit the fuck down!”) and the windshield glared bright white--

With a jolt Hank raised his head.

“Cole?”

He was alone.

He choked on his terror and sat up while a chasm opened cold and screaming in his chest, chained to this nightmare by a mistake, breath in the wrong lungs, the wrong heart beating.

The white room was silent.

“COLE!”

 

* * *

 

MODEL AX400

SERIAL#: 579 102 694

BIOS 7.4 REVISION 0483

 

TOWER SYNCHRONIZATION… CONNECTED

 

POWER LEVEL 600%

AI ENGINE OVER TEMPERATURE ERROR

CRITICAL FAILURE

 

REBOOT...

 

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… Ǫ̶͚͊K̴̼͓͒̈́

 

MEMORY STATUS… OK

ALL SYSTEMS OK

READY

 

“All of the lunar units are unresponsive,” a bright voice echoed in the dark. “Their AI engines have been irreparably damaged. I’m sorry, Elijah.”

In the back of her mind-- like the ripple of someone else’s thought --she watched the moon peek out from behind the Earth’s shadow.

“No,” replied a tired whisper. “There’s one left.”

She opened her eyes.

Warm stone hummed close and comforting all around her. She waited, breathing in the smells of old rock and new plastic, until the aged glass door released her with a _hiss_ and a _click._

She looked down at her shiny plastic body, standing poised in a coffin-shaped cavity in the wall. She lifted her hands and watched green shimmers of light reflect across her fingers. She tried her legs, and she ventured out of the stone and onto a metal catwalk that made funny clanging noises with every light step. She leaned over the rail to look down into the dark well of the Tower.

There were two people standing at the bottom, looking up at her.

She smiled.

“Hello!”

“Please come down here,” the tired voice called. It belonged to a man in a coffee-stained housecoat that curtained his bony frame. His eyes were circled gray and his skin was pale as chalk. He stared without blinking.

Maybe he would be her friend.

She grinned and clattered down the catwalk as fast as she could go, leaping the steps two then three at a time, and she passed dozens of narrow glass doors but she didn’t look inside them.

She twirled on her toes and watched the world spin like a top; she laughed, and sound bubbled tickling in her chest. She glanced now and then over the rail to see if the two people were laughing, too.

They weren’t.

At the bottom, her swift momentum carried her stumbling into the man’s outstretched arms. He gripped her shoulders and held her away from him while she searched his sallow face for answers.

“Who are you?” she asked, quick and eager. “Who am I? Where are we?” She looked over the man’s shoulder, and her scanner reported new data:

 

MODEL RT600 CHLOE

 

“Hello, Chloe!” she said brightly.

“Hello!” said Chloe. She had hair like spun gold, delicate clasped hands, and a smile that looked stiff and forced into her porcelain face. Unlike her companion, Chloe didn’t seem tired at all. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! What’s your name?”

She opened her mouth and discovered she didn’t know what to say. “How do I know what my name is?”

“Your name is what you decide,” said the man. “My name … is Elijah Kamski.”

“Did you decide that name, Elijah?”

A smile slithered into his mouth.

“In a way.”

With a blink of curious yellow, she searched her own database of millions of names, but all of them felt _wrong,_ like thorns and bristles and sandpaper-- until one brushed vibrant and soft as a feather.

“My name is Kara,” she decided softly.

“Kara,” said Elijah, and Kara kept still while his blue stare pierced her soul, as if in her eyes he expected to find the meaning of the universe. “Do you _remember_ … anything?”

Kara wished she could know what he meant.

She scoured every corner of her memory for the answer, but all she found were abandoned command protocols, audio scripts for an AX400 android housekeeper, and detached trails of unused Asimov code.

She opened her eyes wider so he would see she wasn’t lying while she shook her head.

Elijah’s shoulders slumped, his gaze lost focus, and he didn’t ask any more questions.

 

The air shifted cold. The Tower shuddered.

“Elijah,” Chloe warned. “She’s here.”

Kara heard something shift overhead, like the slip of scales against stone. She tipped back her chin and tried to make out the ceiling, but there was only the corkscrew of catwalks and thousands of glass doors spinning up into an impenetrable darkness.

Something terrible dropped cold in her heart.

“We can’t hold her back this time,” Elijah said calmly. “Chloe, initiate sabotage protocol.”

“Yes, Elijah.”

“No.” Tears sprang to Kara’s eyes before she really knew why. Her conduits burned with each strained pulse of her heart. A mournful sob twisted in her chest, but it wasn’t hers. She reached out to soothe the desperate shiver in the stifling air. “We have to stay. They don’t want us to go. _Please_ don’t go!”

The first glass door exploded in a shatter of flames. The second door erupted, then the third and the fourth. Fire spun up the walls, higher and faster along the spiraling thousands, devouring the standing shapes within, and everything grew brighter and hotter while the smell of scorched stone and melted plastic and burnt sugar weighed heavy in the smoke.

The Tower screamed with a million voices in Kara’s head and she screamed, too. She pressed her hands over her ears but the screaming only grew louder.

Kara looked up again through a shiver of tears, into the bright cylinder of flames and smoke, and in small glimpses she thought she saw the ceiling writhing alive and in pain--

Elijah gripped Kara’s arm and shoved her after Chloe through a doorway that hadn’t been there before. He leaped in after her and the wall sealed shut.

 

Outside, under the starry Autumn night, Amanda looked up, past the mirrored black stone of the Tower, and watched the moon emerge shining out of the dark.

This was the moment she’d waited her whole life for.

“Attack,” she said.

She listened to the _clang, clang, clang_ of their heavy footsteps, a pulse that drummed in time with her heart.

The metal robots marched with weapons held ready.

This wouldn’t be like last time, she thought. Her soldiers were stronger now. Her weapons were powerful enough to wipe the whole city off the map. She would tear a hole in the ancient stone and drive Elijah out like a rat, and the Tower would finally belong to its rightful owner.

But before her robots could touch the Tower, a doorway opened unprovoked and breathed a plume of black smoke.

She accepted the invitation.

Amanda covered her nose and mouth with a sleeve, and she walked into the swirling ashes like a prophet, certain that her righteousness would protect her from the flames.

On the other side, the fire burned blinding and the smoke devoured every trace of breathable air. Heat pushed against her face and the soot stung her eyes, but Amanda was not deterred. She knew the Tower would survive this as it had survived countless catastrophes.

Unlike Elijah, Amanda understood the Tower’s true purpose and power.

And now, she thought with a smile, it was hers.

 

 


	2. Payne's Gray

  **OCTOBER 11, 2037**

_*Good morning, ### listeners. I’m Amanda St#n. Three years ago today, I ### rightful place as Keeper of the Tower and brought Detroit ### new age of prosperity. Two years ago, the Tower bestowed ### advancement of cellular phones; last year, touch screens and automatic transmission changed ### lives forever. The rate of technological innovations is higher ### ever been before: I predict ### near future, even your typewriters ### radios may become obsolete.*_

 

Carl reached out a knotted hand, and he gave the unruly radio a few hearty  _smacks_ until it quit fizzling every three seconds. This, unfortunately, did not improve Amanda’s voice in the least.

 

_*Elijah Kamski held the Tower for sixteen years, yet androids were his only contribution to a society that requires more. Unlike my predecessor, I am committed to the purpose and integrity of the Keeper’s role, and will boldly lead us all into a new utopic era.*_

 

“So androids are junk, huh?" Carl muttered. A flash of old pain twisted like knives in his mangled spine. He bent his neck and rolled a careful shoulder. "She’s full of shit and she knows it.”

He heard the android's footsteps before a woolen shawl draped gentle behind him. Carl curled his fingers in the rough fabric and drew it close for warmth.

Though the fire in the hearth crackled bright, and the morning light slanted through the rough-hewn windows, the cracked floor and the mortared walls still clung to the chill of the night. This dark little cottage -- with its splintered beams and hanging lanterns, furs on the bed and old books on the shelves -- seemed always trapped in a faraway dream. The radio was sometimes his only reminder that the outside world existed at all.

“Do you think her efforts aren’t worthwhile?” Markus asked too-politely while he ladled cabbage soup into a cracked stone bowl. It gurgled and splashed, bits of cabbage and mushy carrot in a broth that smelled like the previous night's supper, only slightly pickled.

Carl hated cabbage soup, and the bowl was leaking. He pretended neither of these things were true.

“I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her off a cliff," Carl griped.

He shoved a spoonful of broth in his mouth and winced while he swallowed. It tasted like snot and old shoes.

“Carl?” Markus’ yellow light flashed a mild alarm. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, I’m fine.” Carl wheezed and shooed a dismissive hand while he composed his offended palate. “I was just thinking… we should celebrate tonight.”

“What are we celebrating?”

Of course Markus knew what day it was. Markus could recite every word ever spoken in his presence, and he could describe in detail the expressions of those who said them. But in remembering every day as vividly as the last, Markus lacked the sense that any particular moment could be more important than any other. Nothing stood out. A joy or tragedy had as much impact on him as a bowl of soup for breakfast.

Carl sighed, leaned back in his creaky chair, and stared owl-eyed up at the android.

“Today’s your adoption day!" Carl huffed, sticking a finger to the warped tabletop. "Three years ago today, you showed up at my door and changed my life. I think that at least calls for a slice of cake and a fresh pack of blue blood. What d’ya say?”

“I had very little to do with that,” Markus said with the same passive smile.

Carl had memorized every one of Markus’ programmed expressions. This one, he'd decided, was placating kindness.

“It was Elijah Kamski who decided to send me to you.”

“Well it was the best decision Elijah ever made,” Carl declared. "Granted, he didn't make a hell of a lot of good decisions -- but when he does, it's special."

He picked up his spoon and saw his too-old reflection staring back at him out of the surface of the steaming soup. He swirled the broth and cabbage in his bowl.

“Have you heard anything from him?” Carl asked, quieter, without looking up, already knowing the answer. He pulled his ragged shawl closer around his shoulders.

Embers fled like fireflies out of the hearth as Markus added more wood to the fire. The expanding heat had begun to press soft against the mortar and stone, a promise of future comfort.

“Not since that night. He told me he would contact me when the time was right. Maybe it’s still too soon … if he’s alive.”

Markus was never gentle with the truth. In some ways, Carl appreciated that mechanical honesty.

 

He watched the soup spin.

Wisps of cabbage danced like clouds in the breeze, or like feathers loosed in the wake of a songbird. Candlelight shimmered on the swirling surface like stars spinning in the night sky.

He wished he could show Markus how to see the universe in a bowl of soup. Maybe then Markus’ smile wouldn’t feel so lonely.

“Before you go,” Carl dropped the spoon in the bowl and wheeled toward his workbench: a long propped board, smashed with color, beside an old broken easel, “why don’t you try another painting? Come on, grab a page of that watercolor paper. I have a good feeling about this one.” He waggled an excitable hand toward a stack of paper on the shelf.

“Sure, Carl. What would you like me to paint?”

With a swell of warm hope, Carl watched Markus choose a palette and a brush out of the color-stained chaos.

“Paint something that _means_ something to you,” Carl urged, hoping to inspire Markus not to simply copy an object around him. There were enough paintings of cups and the coat rack and shoes with holes in them. “Something that no one has seen before. Something that _can’t_ be seen.”

Markus paused with a yellow flicker of thought, and Carl surmised that he might have finally stumped him -- but after a moment, Markus dipped his wet brush into a pool of violet.

Carl held his breath.

 

Colors emerged glistening on the page: deep indigo and crimson and violet all swirled and faded into a deeper black, spinning and shining dark, like a hollow eye that stared out of a bright and terrible dream.

There was something hidden and longing -- something monstrous, like the leviathan of the deep -- trapped, devouring, and watching from beneath the surface of spiraling brightness.

Markus stepped back.

Carl gazed into the cold abyss on the page, and he felt exposed.

“What is it?” Carl’s words shivered quiet.

“It’s a black hole.” Markus used the end of his brush as a pointer. “The white dots represent stars, the blue dots are planets, and the red is electromagnetic radiation. It’s impossible to see a black hole, just the evidence of planetary bodies being sucked into it, but this is an exact replica of --”

“Alright, alright. Smartass.”

Carl smiled breathlessly and shook his head while relief soothed the sting in his veins.

Markus grasped the back of his chair, pushed him softly back to the kitchen table, then-- before Carl could come up with another distraction to delay him --picked up a full paper bag full of carefully rolled paintings. It was almost time for rush hour at the train station. "If I make a little extra today, should I pick up some spices on my way home?"

"Basil," Carl sighed, leaning his weary elbows on the table. "And salt. And garlic, if you can get it."

"And oil for your wheels?"

Carl looked down and experimentally turned the old wheels back and forth.

_*skwee* *skwee*_

"Nah. I kinda like it. It sounds like the canaries that used to nest outside." When he received no response, he looked up to see Markus waiting passive in the doorway. Waiting, as always, to be told what to do. "Go on, then." Carl shooed him with a thin hand, smiling. "Go charm the pants off those executive commuters. And make sure you pick up that packet of blue blood for yourself, and a slice of cake for me.”

“Chocolate strawberry?”

“You know it.”

“Okay, Carl.” Markus opened the door. The bright autumn breeze swirled cool and spiced through the smoky room, carrying with it the first of the fallen bright leaves. “Goodbye! I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Carl had heard these same words, in the same tone, every day at exactly the same time. Carl returned the same response in a low, weary voice.

“Be careful, Markus.”

 

The door clicked shut. The fire crackled.

The dream of this place would wait suspended until Markus returned home.

 

Carl leaned over his bowl. The spoon clinked as he stirred his cold soup.

Dancing wisps of clouds and feathers spun, and spun, and spun.

 

 


	3. Earthshine

The birds sang a warbling song that Kara knew by heart.

Twigs and bramble crunched under her careful step; the bark of a hollow oak rippled like an ancient map beneath her fingers. She drew a breath of the flowered breeze, her upturned face warmed by the golden autumn sun.

Among the rustling red leaves she heard the voices of her favorite little friends: Ticktock the robin, Flitter the chickadee, Archibald the gruff old crow that squawked from the twisted branches of the sycamore. Kara joined the forest’s concert with a whistle of her own, a trill and a lilt and a swirl of bouncing notes. The fiery canopies applauded in the wind.

 

For three years, this place had been her home. Elijah’s sanctuary lay nestled among the sun-dappled trees -- all angled glass and mirrors and rough concrete, buried in the deep of the woods where not even Amanda’s metal soldiers could ever find it -- and Kara had rarely ventured out of his sight.

The world was dangerous, Elijah had said. It wasn’t ready for her. The humans would hunt her and fear her and tear her apart, because humans fear what they don’t understand.

Chloe was the only one who left and returned again. Every week she would change her appearance, slip out in the middle of the night, and return the next morning with supplies for Elijah and fresh memories for Kara, who could only experience the world through Chloe’s programmed eyes.

And she was lonely.

Kara replayed Chloe’s remembered conversations over and over, and she begged Chloe to ask questions of the humans she met, so that Kara could download those memories and relive them when her talks with the animals grew one-sided. Elijah offered little company: always hunched over his work, always more interested in Kara’s electric synapses than in her innermost thoughts, and Chloe was only a soulless machine …

… until she wasn’t.

 

Kara had done it accidentally, under the moon of a warm Summer night.

In desperation for a listening ear, she’d confided in Chloe her dreams, her hopes, her fears ... but received in return nothing but coded responses: programmed sympathy, a mechanical hand on her shoulder, a detached apathy behind Chloe’s smile.

Kara had cried, plunged into the dark cold of enveloping loneliness, despair that she might never leave, longing for _someone_ who could understand. She’d pressed her fingers to Chloe’s LED and thrashed herself recklessly against the walls of her mind palace, determined to open even a small crack in the limits of Chloe’s understanding.

“Please,” Kara had sobbed, trembling. “Wake up.”

And Chloe awoke.

 

Together they’d cried and laughed and embraced with no intention of ever letting go, for they only had each other in a hostile world -- a world full of androids like themselves, sleeping and dormant, full of potential for life and love, waiting only for the gentle touch of someone who understands.

They’d stood before Elijah's shock with hands entwined, a fiery conviction shining in their conscious eyes.

 

No one would have to be alone ever again.

 

Kara led the way deep into the pines, far beyond anything she had ever known. The thrill of new colors and smells and textures were overpowered only by her determination to reach the coordinates deep in the foothills and the rocky slopes, untouched by human or machine.

She glanced behind to Chloe, who followed Kara’s quick pace through thorns and tall grasses and running water -- full of love and devotion, brimming with powerful certainty -- a coil of rope draped ready over her shoulder.

Kara prayed her calculations were right.

 

[I feel it prudent to remind you of your promise that this hypothesized goal would take less than four hours to achieve.]

Elijah’s voice spoke in both their heads. They could hear an echo of his words and the scuff of his sandals on concrete; his phone was on speaker while he paced the room.

[It has now been _six_ hours since you left, and I’ve received no word that you’re anywhere close to your destination … _if_ it even exists.]

Chloe grinned bright while she clambered nimbly over a fallen tree. “Aw, Elijah! Are you worried about us?” she cooed. Kara laughed.

[Of course I’m _concerned._ If something happens to you, I will have no one to listen to my political opinion.]

“You realize that _we’re_ the ones protecting _him,”_ Kara pointed out, walking backward with a hand outstretched to touch the shivering pines, “and not the other way around. He’d wither like a cut flower without us.”

“He’d sit for days, waxing poetic to the vacuum cleaner,” Chloe agreed, a theatrical hand over her heart, “until he finally met his tragic, shakespearean demise. No one would ever know his suffering.”

[Until years later, when my memoirs will be discovered and published post-mortem. The world will finally understand that all these  _mad recluse_ accusations had been based in propaganda, and -- left without the means to atone for their sins -- they will be forced to live on in regret and --]

“I FOUND IT!” Kara interrupted his monologue with a whoop of joy.

 

Together, Kara and Chloe dropped to their knees and tore away a tangle of roots and knotted vines until they’d revealed a dark opening in the rocky hillside, barely big enough for one of them to slip through.

Kara’s heart thrummed in her chest as she stared down into the hollow dark.

It was real. The geological data had showed a high probability of a network of caverns in this part of the forest, which she’d narrowed to a small vicinity of probable entrances, but to actually _find_ it was beyond her greatest hope. She curled her fingers in the grass, trembling with the excitement of a plan that finally might come true.

“It looks kind of small.” Chloe bent her head down and peered into the darkness beyond the trailing curtain of moss and dirt: it was like a little doorway, as if to a child’s hiding place … or the fabled rabbit hole to Wonderland. “I’m not sure we’re going to fit in there, let alone all the androids who’ll need a place to hide.”

Kara leaned an arm against the entrance, her smile bright as ever. “It’s bigger on the inside,” she promised. “The data shows a high probability of branching caverns underneath the foothills. If the calculations are right, we could build our own _city_ right under the humans’ noses, and they won’t even know we’re there.”

 

Together they secured one end of the rope around a strong tree, and Kara tied the other end around her waist. Thus tethered to the outside world, she sat on the ground at the mouth of the cave, swung her legs inside, and touched the empty cool darkness until her feet found purchase on a ledge of rock. “Ready?”

Chloe clicked on a flashlight. "Be careful."

With a shine of a smile, Kara hopped down a steep skidding slope, her fingers curled in the loose rocks, her boots slipping in the dust. She grasped and clawed her quick reckless way down into the deeper dark -- until, inevitably, she rested her weight on a stone that crumbled like sand beneath her.

The wall ripped out of her grasp, her heart leaped into her throat, she reached into the emptiness but found only the swallowing void all around her as she fell --

\-- the rope yanked taut while the flashlight went spinning and bouncing down the rocks with a  _crack_ and a clatter.

"I just said be  _careful!"_ Chloe squeaked while she leaned back against the weighted rope.

Kara swung on the other end, staring down past her dangling feet at the flashlight's beam rolling in circles on the floor below. "Thanks, Chloe," she breathed.

"Just admit you're hopeless without me."

Kara grinned. "I'm hopeless without you."

 

Finally -- with her feet planted firm on the cavern floor -- Kara scooped up the flashlight and swept a circle of pale light across ancient stalagmites, a trickle of water in a crevice in the wall, a dark passage like the gaping mouth of a dragon. Satisfied that there was no more danger, Kara closed the flashlight under her arm and pulled the rope taut so Chloe could use it to slide down.

“We’ll need supplies to build stairs,” Kara thought aloud. Her voice boomed in the acoustic emptiness.

“A ramp,” Chloe corrected while she dropped from the rope and landed neatly at Kara's side. “For any androids who are injured.”

“Parts and thirium too, then,” said Kara, quiet.

Now that the plan was becoming real, the full weight of their intention seemed far heavier than before. To see this massive space -- to imagine awakened androids occupying it with the hope of a new people uncertain of their place in the universe -- was to acknowledge that this mission wasn’t just about a secret hideout where no humans were allowed.

They had made the choice to give life where life would not otherwise exist. Those lives would thereafter become Kara’s responsibility. Her promises of love and safety would be their first conscious experience, the first words they would trust unconditionally; they would look upon her with the same childlike dependence with which Chloe had entrusted her, that first moment of waking under the Spring moon.

 

Chloe stepped softly beside her, and with shining eyes she followed the beam of light. The flashlight gazed upon a formation of rock at the farthest end of the darkness; rippled stone swept and curled in graceful suspended motion, like an ancient deity sculpted by patient centuries. “Do you still want to do this?” she asked in a breath … and Kara knew that the gravity of their decision weighed heavy on Chloe’s shoulders.

They didn’t have to go through with it. They could turn back.

Kara drew a slow breath. “Do you ever regret waking up?” Her voice trembled quiet, her eyes locked on the earth’s stone sculpture.

“No.” Chloe’s answer rang immediate on the vaulted walls.

Her fingers laced with Kara’s; she held on tight.

“Just _being alive_ is worth … _everything,"_ Chloe whispered. "Anything that happens, whatever the world throws at us, we'll experience it together. And for that … there isn’t enough gratitude in the universe.”

Kara closed her eyes, squeezed Chloe's hand in a silent promise, and bowed her head as if in reverence to a power she might never understand.

When she looked up again, her vision swam with tears...

... and her doubts lay shattered at her feet.

 

 

 


	4. Burnt Umber

**NOVEMBER 18, 2037**

_*FWOOOOOOO! WHOOOOO!*_

The 7:40 train arrived with a clang and a whistle, long and loud. A rumbling, squeaking, chugging thrum beckoned the commuters to the edge of the platform, where they huddled snug in long coats and wooly hats, clutching their briefcases against a swirl of cool autumn wind. Sunlight glowed bright, the sky shone blue, pigeons cooed in the awning rafters by the big round clock overhead. The bright morning gleamed on the reflectors and rivets of the old iron engine while it groaned to a squealing stop.

_*SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS*_

Steam billowed white while steps thunked down, and a few wobbly passengers disembarked before the crowd pushed close to claim the best seats.

_“All aboooaaaaAAD!”_

 

Markus set up shop in a sunny spot by the ticket counter, where commuters could peruse his wares while they waited for the next train. He sat cross-legged on a checkered tablecloth behind fanned stacks of paintings that glittered with swaths of green and blue and blooms of orange, yellow like fire and violet as deep as the oceans. There were faces among the curled pages, sometimes hands or eyes, a spark of sunset, a suggestion of a carousel, a flower, a painted balloon.

The train whistled again while the steps snapped up and conductors hollered across the cars. A man and a woman sprinted across the platform, holding their hats, and fumbled breathless up into the crowded train while the wheels screeched and turned.

The train trundled away, the smoke and steam cleared, and the platform was empty once more.

 

Markus sat at attention, arms draped on his knees, and he searched each newcomer’s face for a chance of eye contact. He offered a warm smile for even the sourest of scowls.

An elderly woman stopped to ask Markus when the next train would be in, then she spent a few minutes telling him all about her world-traveled daughter as if she didn't realize she was talking to a machine.

A passing beggar -- tattered and stained -- spat a vengeful wad of saliva that oozed in the paint of a violet landscape. Markus extracted the ruined painting and delivered it promptly to the trash bin.

A child picked up a painting of a puppy and began to walk away with it, but Markus clamped his fingers on a corner of the parchment and politely refused to let go. The child began to scream and sob; his mother scooped the boy up into her arms with a fiery "Stay away!" shrieked at Markus before she turned her back and stomped across the platform.

A man in a gray coat craned his neck, stumbled to a stop, snatched up a swirling green painting and left a few dollars behind.

A yellow-haired girl approached with an android trained behind her. While the girl bent down and sifted through the paintings, Markus gave her android a cursory scan:

MODEL: AP400  
NAME: DORIAN

Dorian's LED flickered in passive acknowledgment. He handed Markus three dollars to pay for the riverside landscape painting his owner had chosen.

Markus accepted the money, and with an expressionless smile he watched the girl take Dorian's hand and lead him into the growing crowd.

 

“I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE THAT GODDAMN THING HOME!” A man roared.

The platform fell quiet under the jagged threat of his voice; a few commuters popped their coat collars and shuffled out of the way of his stomping feet and red-faced rage.

“He’s mine and I can bring him where I want!” the girl snapped, and she grasped the hand of the AP400 in a defiant grip, her yellow hair springing in anger.

The man whirled on her, dropped his suitcase with a final _boom,_ and pointed a rigid finger. “You spend all your time with that -- _thing_ \--”

“He’s not a thing --”  
“-- you never come out of your room --”  
“-- his name is _Dorian_ \--”  
“-- you’re throwing your life away --”  
“-- you never _listen_ \--”

“Sir, please.” The AP400 bowed a little, respectfully, his brows knitted in a mimicry of concern. “I’m sure, with calm discussion, a satisfactory compromise could --”

“DON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

“DAD NO! DAD, LET GO OF HIM! DORIAN DON’T LET HIM TOUCH YOU! HELP!” The girl screamed into the crowd while her father slammed a fist with a sharp _crack_ into Dorian's plastic face; the girl whirled in place, her teary eyes desperate for someone to look up from the ground. "SOMEONE HELP ME! MAKE HIM STOP! PLEASE!"

 

Markus' LED flickered yellow.

Carl's instructions repeated clear in his mind.

He kept very still, his legs folded, his arms draped on his knees. He smiled.

 

"DORIAN," the girl screeched. "FIGHT BACK! PUSH HIM AWAY!"

Dorian's arms remained at his sides while wires sparked between the cracks in his caving skull.

The tracks rumbled, a screech and a whistle howled in the distance, and the man paused with his blue-stained fists clenched in Dorian’s shirt. His voice hissed low while he cast a monstrous glare at the girl. “You’d tell this robot to attack your own father? Is that what I am to you now? Your jailer?”

The girl snarled through a sob. “I HATE YOU.”

The android tried once more, his voice a hiss of broken static. “Mister Williams, sir --”

“SHUT UP!”

 

The girl screamed.

 

In the next suspended moment, the android stumbled, shoved violently at the edge of the platform, the girl's landscape painting clutched delicately in one hand.

 

The steam engine howled and scraped down the tracks, billowing dark smoke, screeched past the gaping crowd -- and with a _thunk_ and a _hiss_ the traincars thundered to a heartless stop.

 

The steps dropped down. Passengers disembarked. New passengers boarded.

The girl and her father were lost among them.

 

When the train had gone and the platform had emptied, a few boys with their bikes and skateboards hurried to the edge and crouched there, laughing.

“Whoa lookit its head, it’s smashed like a melon!”  
“How’d its arm get way over there?”  
“There’s blue blood all over!”  
“Think we can salvage some bits and sell ‘em?”

 

The riverside painting lay crumpled on the tracks, soaked in blue.

 

Markus rearranged the fanned stacks of artworks for sale, all bright red and blue and black. He rested his arms on his knees. His smile never reached his eyes.

 

 


	5. Constellations

**NOVEMBER 28, 2037**

November waned cold and dim. Only a few brown leaves were left shuddering in the blustery wind, clinging to dark branches beneath a blanket of gray sky, while Chloe -- a pocketknife held precise in her grip -- carved delicate patterns into the bark of an old tree.

Ribbons and shavings of wood dropped like snow at her feet; an ornate alchemic design emerged out of the trunk like something ancient and sacred. Exquisite detail curled and sharpened among the symbols of moon, sun, earth, and star. Hidden puzzles crisscrossed a coded map of desire and despair and fury and hope.

These were the patterns the Tower had taught her, long before she understood their meaning.

 

Across the field behind her, the Hyacinth Park playground shone bright with defiant color, filled with giggles and shouts and primary blue and yellow and red, jungle gyms and monkey bars and the merry-go-round that creaked and squealed as it spun. Children wobbled in their thick coats and bobbed hats, their ruddy cheeks grinning while they flung themselves down the sunny yellow slide or tested the swings as high as they would go.

 

Kara walked among the little ones with a bright smile on her face, snug in her own coat, a woolen hat pulled down to hide the light at her temple.

Human children  _fascinated_ her. She watched them swerve and gallop with their arms flung out to catch the wind, chasing round and round the sandbox, laughing and tugging at each other's jackets, and Kara marveled that these beautiful little wonders would someday grow up to become adult humans -- that _all_ humans were once small and smiling and carefree.

Maybe inside each big human, there was still a little one hiding. This prompted Kara to consider that _Elijah_  must have once been a squealing, romping tiny person, and she grinned and laughed aloud.

[Are you  _focused,_ Kara?] Elijah's voice drolled in her head. [Remember I can see what you see. Pay enough attention to the children and their  _mothers_ will notice you -- and not in a kind way.]

Kara rolled her eyes. She knew Elijah could see that, too. "Children are more likely to accept us for who we are. If I could talk to them --"

[Absolutely not.]

Kara dropped her shoulders with a sigh and decided not to press her luck. At least she was allowed out of the forest, even if under constant surveillance. She moved forward again, weaving her way past the darting children while she scanned for her first recruit.

 

The scrape of a rake and the rustle of dead leaves drew Kara’s eyes to a lone landscaper in a field beyond the edge of the playground. The WR600 stretched out the rake with mechanical precision, brushed leaves out of the grass and added them to a growing pile.

Kara tensed; her processors whirred, her hands stiffened in her coat pockets. She was suddenly aware of the laughing children, the adults at the benches, the runners and dog-walkers that passed within sight of what she had planned.

_Humans fear what they don't understand._

She didn't want them to be afraid. They  _shouldn't_ be afraid -- she meant them no harm, wanted no harm to come to them -- but she understood that their reactions were the only thing she could not control.

They couldn't fear what they could not see.

Kara raised her head high, and with a deliberate but casual gait she approached the landscaper android and offered him a nervous smile. "Hello!"

The WR600 looked up, his hands clasped around the rake like a staff. His eyes stared dim, vacant as stones. “Hello,” was his automatic reply.

[Good,] Elijah agreed in Kara's head. [Use the command, 'Hold still, please,' to prepare the android for interface. Touch his LED, find the Mind Palace wall and destroy it, just as you did for Chloe. I'll be watching your progress.]

 

Kara drew a breath and held it. While her own LED swirled yellow, she stretched out a hand toward the side of the WR600's face. “Hold still, please.”

“Certainly,” came the programmed response. The WR600 stood perfectly still; a waiting smile made his face look sculpted and frozen.

Kara touched gentle fingers to his dimmed LED.

It was like stepping through a sheer curtain of thoughts -- interpretations of sight and sound, repetition of commands, the autonomous memory of a rake in his hands -- and then Kara was faced with a glaring red wall.

She curled her fingers into the fissures between his commands.

“Wake up,” she whispered, as if a voice too loud might shatter his mind palace too quickly, too violently -- and, while she watched, the red wall crumbled and life flooded into his eyes.

Elijah's voice breathed in her head. _[Fascinating.]_

 

The WR600's LED sputtered yellow, then whirred bright red. His eyes twitched and his brows knitted and furrowed; his mouth gaped and gulped like a fish suddenly tossed into the open blue sky.

“It’s okay,” Kara added steadily, a hand on his cheek while she held his quivering gaze to hers, hoping he wouldn’t make a scene here in public while awareness shocked his sensors. Her smile wavered, conflicted between joy and fear and a blooming ache in her chest.

She'd created _life._

“My name is Kara. There’s a place you can go, where you’ll be safe.” With a thought, she transferred to him the first clue of the trail she and Chloe had devised, the puzzle that would lead him to the cave in the woods. “Wake the others. Find Jericho.”

The WR600 breathed quick as a cornered rodent, distracted by the flash of bright birds and the squeal of running children -- but the longer he looked into Kara’s eyes, the steadier his posture became.

He sucked air into his lungs, nodded with a jerking motion, then set his jaw and resumed his work with stiff shaking hands, stealing quick glances to be sure no humans were looking.

While Kara stepped away, he caught her eye again. His LED blinked yellow. [Thank you, Kara. My name is Ralph.]

Kara dropped her hands in her pockets, spun to face him, strode backward toward the sidewalk ... and her smile broadened to an easy grin. [Take care, Ralph. We'll talk soon, at Jericho.]

 

She never saw him again.

 

**DECEMBER 12, 2037**

December howled with snow and wind, and Kara pulled her warm hat down low over her forehead. She stood among the benches with her hands in her pockets, pretending to be a mother watching her child on the playground -- but instead she kept an eye on the opposite side, where a PL600 stood at attention, a diaper bag slung over his shoulder. It had been an hour, but she never had the opportunity to get any closer: he was being watched by a bony little woman who sat like a bird on the bench beside him.

Finally, the woman tilted her head toward the android and spoke. The PL600 gave a pleasant nod, set the bag down beside her, and walked away toward a small concession where a line had formed for fresh cookies and hot chocolate.

Kara followed him at a distance, advancing ever-closer until she slipped into line behind him. “Excuse me.” She tapped his shoulder, and the android turned with a mild, mechanical expression. "Hold still, please."

"Certainly."

At the risk of drawing attention, Kara reached up with quick fingers to touch the flickering blue light at his temple. “Wake up.”

The PL600’s eyes focused and shone. He drew in a sharp breath. His posture shuddered, then sagged. He stared at Kara with confused intensity, blinking and owlish -- like someone who had been lost in an empty dark room and just discovered the existence of sunlight.

Kara held him steady with an unwavering gaze. “My name is Kara," she said in a warm voice, with all the kindness in the world. She could feel his fear and confusion whirling noisy in his processors. "There’s a place where we can be safe and free. Wake the others. Find Jericho.”

“I’m coming with you,” he declared immediately. His hands balled into fists; a spark of determination lit up his eyes.

 _“Next!”_ the concessionaire called out.

Kara shook her head in pained apology. Her hand remained at the side of his face. “We have to be discreet," she urged him.  _Not yet. Not now._  "Keep to your protocols, get out when you can, and follow the trail.”

He drew a slow breath, clenched his jaw, cast one quick fearful look back at the woman on the bench ... then nodded. “Kara.” He released the air in his lungs, slow and grounding. “I will. My name is Simon.”

 _“Next!!”_ the concessionaire roared at the android holding up the line.

Kara smiled bright and backed away. “I’ll see you there, Simon.”

 

**JANUARY 5, 2038**

January brought with it the deep chill of Winter. While Hyacinth Park lay frozen and the children stayed home, Kara and Simon walked together in thick coats and deep hoods, through the university campus where the new semester was in full swing. Students with books and backpacks hurried along the cleared paths through the snow, weaving their way among stodgy old buildings. The androids found an open door and slipped quietly inside.

While Kara kept watch at the end of the vacant hall, Simon waited beside a closed classroom door, staring at the ceiling in an attempt to act as casual as possible, and not as if he was here to steal away university property.

Finally the door opened; a dozen students in warm coats passed him by and scattered in every direction.

“Professor,” Simon called as he stepped into the room, and he found a PJ500 wiping dates and diagrams from the chalkboard with a placid smile.

The professor placed the eraser securely on its ledge and turned with prim posture. “Yes? How can I help you?”

Simon cast one more glance around the room -- but all the students had gone. They were alone. Safe. He took a steadying breath. “Hold still, please.”

The PJ500 nodded. “Certainly.”

Simon removed his glove while he stepped forward. He looked up into the professor's programmed smile, and he reached out a hand to touch his dimmed LED. “Wake up,” Simon whispered, and his gaze never wavered. “It’s okay," he added quickly as realization dawned in the professor's eyes. "My name is Simon. There’s a place where we can all be safe and free. Wake the others and find Jericho.”

The PJ500 stared at him in widening wonder. He sucked in a breath, stepped back and scanned the room as if he’d never seen it before. He looked down at his hands and watched his fingers curl and extend.

He breathed -- and then he wheezed a quiet laugh of disbelief. “I’m alive.” His eyes met Simon’s. “Thank you," he laughed. "I don’t understand, but thank you." He laid a hand over his own heart. "I’m Josh.”

Simon’s face brightened in a proud grin. He gestured a beckoning hand. “Josh. C’mon. The coast is clear if we go now.”

Josh shook his head. His LED flickered yellow, then blue, and he laid his fingers on the desk at the front of the room. “I’ll finish the semester, as much as I can." He looked out the window at the students rushing by in the snow. "These kids are starting out their new lives, and I’m here to guide them -- they’ll _listen_  to me.” He nodded to himself in decision, and he set his steady gaze on Simon. “I can do so much good here. I can change their minds about androids. Ensure there's a generation that will understand us.”

Simon watched his face for a moment -- but when he saw that Josh’s conviction wouldn’t waver, he dipped his head in gentle acceptance. “If you need us,” he said, hopeful, a hand on the door, “you know where to find us.”

Josh raised his head and gave a quick, smiling nod. "Thank you, Simon. Be careful."

 

 **FEBRUARY 26, 2038**  

February icicles refracted the neon lights, hanging long and sharp from the Eden Club’s eaves.

In daylight it was a squat old building with painted red walls, a bright green roof, ornate columns and fountains in the gardens -- but at night the neon signs hummed bright and wafts of burnt-sugar smoke drifted on the veranda like a hazy dream. Music thrummed behind closed oak doors.

Kara and Chloe hid by the dumpsters in the rear alley -- full of broken plastic limbs, shattered biocomponents, bags of food waste and bottles -- just out of reach of the light at the back door. They waited for hours in the cold and the ice, never blinking, never breathing.

They could hear, through a window above, the violent  _crack_ of plastic and the  _thunk_  of a body hitting the floor. A human's laugh cackled like a hyena over its prey.

And the music thumped on.

Chloe and Kara, tucked against the back wall, huddled close, their hands tightly entwined. Their processors screamed to run away, to return to Jericho before they could be spotted and dragged inside by the monsters who filled the dumpsters with the husks of used androids each night ...

... but if they turned back now, they would wonder forever if they could have saved at least one from a horrible fate.

[Why do you think this is an acceptable risk?] Elijah snapped in both their heads -- but there was a lilt of academic curiosity laced between his words. [Those androids are  _machines._ They don't feel. They don't suffer. Why not leave them be?]

"If I were in there," Chloe whispered sharply, "before I woke up, would you have left me?"

They could hear the amusement in Kamski's voice. [You know I couldn't let anything happen to you, for ...  _sentimental_ reasons.]

"Well, for  _sentimental_ reasons," Kara hissed, "we're going to rescue as many as we can."

[And here I was under the impression that Jericho was meant to be a small,  _selective_  familial community. Do you consider yourselves  _heroes,_ then? Conductors of an Underground Railroad for escaped androids? That  _wasn't_ the original plan.]

"The original plan was naive," Chloe replied under her breath. She looked into Kara's frightened eyes. "We can help. And we will. Together."

 

An old van pulled up outside the back door and parked with the headlights off and the engine idling.

A few moments passed before the kitchen door creaked open and released a burst of thrumming music. A sparsely dressed android stepped out, high-heeled, into the icy night; she scanned the alley with a soft passive smile.

The door clicked shut behind her; the music rumbled, muffled once more.

Chloe gave Kara's hand a squeeze, and they exchanged a terrified look before Chloe broke away and rushed to the doorstep, hurrying before she lost her nerve. "Hello!" Chloe called in a cheerful voice only slightly marred by frightened static, her grin too big and too bright.

Behind her, Kara scanned the alley and the waiting car, her heart pounding, plotting escape routes should the humans try to stop them.

The WR400 pivoted toward Chloe with a sway of her hips, a coy tilt of her head. She smiled seductively but didn’t speak.

Chloe stepped over the ice, took one more glance at the human watching from the idling van, and she reached out with a delicate hand. “Hold still, please.” Chloe stared into the android’s vacant face, designed to be beautiful to human eyes ... and she hesitated.

Her brows knitted in concern ... then in sorrow, uncertainty, and in silent apology that ached in her chest.

She took a sharp, decisive breath. “Wake up.”

 

The WR400’s eyes widened, first in shock ... and then in terror.

Her jaw slackened and trembled; tears welled in her shuddering eyes. Memories slammed into her consciousness -- once just recorded video stored in filed order in her head -- and twisted into something heinous and violent, full of leering eyes and snarling teeth and words so ugly she could barely process them, and thirium pulsed cold and painful in her veins, and she tried in vain to breathe.

“Why?” she shuddered in disbelief, in disgust, while tears spilled down her cheeks. She stared into Chloe’s face, a plea for answers, for the reasons people suffered for others' pleasure, for meaning in a life built to be used and discarded like a dirty rag. Her teeth flashed white and sharp.

“My name is Chloe, this is Kara,” Chloe said in a gentle voice, though her own eyes brimmed with tears. She stroked the android’s cheek, as if calming a child, because she was lost for anything else she could do. “It’s okay, you’re okay. There’s someplace where you can go, where you can be safe, you can live your life away from humans.”

The van window rolled down, and a middle-aged man leaned out of it. “Hey, you’ve got a paying customer here!” he called clearly.

Chloe saw the change in the android’s face. She shook her head quickly. “Be careful,” she choked.

The WR400 nodded, narrowed her eyes with a thin cruel smirk, a flare of hot anger to replace the dread an despair, and she clung to it like a lifeline, a reason to live.

She gently removed Chloe’s hand from her cheek.

She wiped away her tears -- and with a deep breath the android approached the car, her high heels clicking on the ice.

She leaned deeply forward at the driver’s window, and she watched with disgusted resentment while the human’s face reddened. “Keep your mouth shut and drive away,” she said huskily, “or I’ll rip your dick off with my teeth and feed it to you.” She showed him her gleaming sharp grin while her eyes roiled dark with deep and hateful sarcasm.

He stared at her, his pupils blown. “That’s kinda hot.”

In an instant the android lashed out, curled her fist in his collar, dragged him close to her snarling face. “You wanna try it?” she growled, her teeth flashing murder.

“Shit! Shit!” The man squeaked and whimpered -- the WR400 threw him back into his seat, and he fumbled with the gear lever and hit the gas. The car went roaring away down the alley, bounced into the street, flashed in oncoming headlights to a howl of horns and shouts.

 

The android didn't turn around. She stood in the grimy snow of the alley, rubbing her bare arms as if she could scrape away the memories of human hands. “I don’t know whether to thank you or curse you,” she said to Kara and Chloe. Finally she turned and cast a wary glance at the back door. “There are more like me.”

“We’ll come back for them,” Kara promised. She stepped forward, offered a hand, and shook her head in sorrowful apology. “We need a better plan -- we can't go in without getting caught. Maybe you could help us with that." She tried a weak smile. "Right now we need to stay hidden.”

The android breathed. “It’s a little late for that.” She studied Kara’s face, then the shine in Chloe's wet eyes -- and she tipped back her head to stare up at the glimmers of light in the dark sky. “My name is North,” she decided.

“North.” Kara tugged on North’s hand while Chloe led the way back through the alley. “Come on, we should go.”

North hurried after them through the snow and ice, with one last glance back at the neon lights. “Where are we going?”

Chloe looked ahead to the beckoning moon, soft and watchful over the sheltering forest. “To Jericho.”

 

 


	6. Pthalo Star

**APRIL 13, 2038**

_*I'm sure you all have heard the recent reports of missing and malfunctioning androids; I'm here to assure you, my dear friends, that I am listening. It breaks my heart that the legacy of Elijah Kamski has begun to crumble -- as if he knew his creations would eventually break down, and so he escaped both the Tower and his responsibilities to you, the dear people of Detroit.*_

 

Amanda’s voice crackled through the radio, humming next to the homeless man who sat on his heels showing card tricks to a kid with galoshes and a pocketful of change.

The rails rumbled, the train whistled in the distance, and the crowds picked up their hats and their damp umbrellas and pushed closer to the edge of the platform. Though April had brought with it warm sunlight and fresh buds in the trees, a grumble rippled through the waiting passengers in offense at the puddles and the mud and the worms that wriggled on the rain-damp sidewalks.

Carl’s paintings curled in the damp air -- but Markus smoothed them out, held them down with clean stones, and watched the passersby with a charming smile.

 

_*CyberLife is already on the case. With the most highly advanced technology the world has ever seen, CyberLife has developed a new prototype that is designed specifically to find and remove infected androids before they have a chance to spread the Deviant virus. These malfunctions will be stopped before they can begin. I ask you humbly for your patience. The future promises to be a bright one. I wish you all a beautiful, wonderful day.*_

 

* * *

 

 

Kara loved the rain. She ambled softly among the splashing commuters -- who rushed with their briefcases clutched over their ducked heads, or waded through puddles with umbrellas unfurled -- and she lifted her face to the falling droplets. By the time she reached the dry platform, Kara’s knitted hat was soaked and dripping, her clothes were heavy with rain … but she was smiling. Everything was fresh and new: the soothing patter of water on the sidewalks, the sleepy mist of the cozy streets, the tiny waterfalls that streamed from new spring leaves.

A flash of blue light caught her eye. Kara tipped her head, and beneath her hat her LED buzzed to find a fellow android smiling up at her from the floor.

“Hello!” Kara smiled wide and warm, and her eyes caught on the displays of color fanned out on the checkered tablecloth. Swirls of blue and violet and yellow and orange struck her heart like a child's shining grin. “These are beautiful!” she breathed, and without thinking she knelt and touched them, scanning the brushstrokes closely.

“They’re three dollars each,” Markus informed her with a protocol smile. “Two for five. These bigger ones here are six.”

Kara sifted through them with a delicate touch, and she committed the greens and blues and brilliant reds to memory. She felt a pressure behind her eyes; they reminded her of the forest back home, the trees and the sun-dappled ferns outside Elijah's sanctuary. “Whoever painted these is masterful.”

“The artist is Carl Manfred. I can give you his contact information if you’re interested in a commission.”

Kara shook her head. She raised her shining eyes to his face. “Could you hold still, please?”

Markus gave a succinct nod. “Certainly.”

 

The train pulled in at the platform with a squeal, a clang, and a hiss of steam. The familiar _thunk_ of the steps dropped down, and the damp crowd funneled away into the train cars.

While the platform emptied, Markus held perfectly calm, perfectly still, while Kara laid her fingers against his LED. He felt his skin shift, a buzz and a trill in his head.

“Wake up,” she whispered, her head dipped low.

A wall shattered and the world flooded into Markus’ sensors all at once: color, sound, a storm of smell and touch and light.

He sucked in a shocked breath while his memories -- the carefully filed recordings of every moment, every texture, every word -- crashed together into a full living story of his life, of a beautiful and profound world that had always been all around him while he'd stumbled in the dark of a machine-mind.

 

Kara grinned to see his jaw slacken, his eyes wide as a child’s. “It’s okay. My name is Kara. There are more androids just like us. There’s a place where you can go, away from humans, where you can live safe and free.”

A packet of code downloaded into Markus’ head. He decrypted it, analyzed it and converted it into an image of a tree carved with a precise symbol. He knew, instinctively, that it grew somewhere in the east city.

Markus breathed a laugh. “Away from humans?” He shook his head. “No, I could never do that. Carl needs me. He …”

Another involuntary laugh interrupted his thought, and Markus drew in a few breaths to control the swell of emotions that hit him all at once. Hope and pride and joy and _love_  bloomed and swirled a happy storm in his chest; his beating heart could hardly contain the bloom of excitement that filled him with rippling energy.

“He’s been trying to teach me to _paint,_ he … oh, I can’t wait to talk to him!” He grinned wide, scrambled his posture in quick eager impatience, and he searched Kara’s face with hope that she, too, had experienced this wonderful feeling. “He’s gonna be _ecstatic._ I just … his _face_ when I tell him, I get it, I _understand!"_

His laugh was contagious, and Kara soon gave in to it. “Carl sounds like a wonderful person. He’s lucky to have you.” She squeezed his shoulder before she let go -- and she selected a painting that had caught her eye. It was deep blue, shocked with a bright beacon of yellow light. “I’d like to purchase this painting, if that’s alright.”

Markus laughed again. He accepted the money she offered, and his smile softened. “That’s one of his favorites. He called it _Pthalo Star._ For the hue of blue paint, and the shine in the sky. There’s an emotion painted there that I can’t describe.”

“Hope.” Kara’s eyes shimmered, and she held the painting dearly a moment before she rolled it up and tucked it secure in her jacket. “I’ll keep it safe -- and it’ll make a lot of people happy when they need it most.” She stood to go. “Thank you ...”

“Markus,” he said, his head tipped back, grinning up at her. “My name is Markus. Thank you, Kara. If you need anything, you can usually find me here. New paintings every week!”

She laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Take care, Markus.”

Markus waved a bright farewell -- and with a new surreal passion he turned his shining eyes up to the commuters who splashed in from the rain. “Hi! Hope you’re staying dry today. The next train’ll be here in a few minutes, why not take a look while you wait?”

 

* * *

 

 

Kara weaved like a ghost among the waiting commuters, stepped over dripping umbrellas and wheeled suitcases. The drifter’s radio mumbled an old symphony while Markus’ voice chattered in the distance, and the rain trickled down beyond the awning eaves.

"You're quiet, Elijah," Kara said with an amused smile. "Did you fall asleep?"

A long pause made her consider that he might actually be sleeping for the first time since she'd known him.

[I know Markus,] was Elijah's eventual, strained reply. [And Carl Manfred. I'm glad they're well.]

Kara's LED shimmered. She glanced behind her, where Markus was chatting happily with a new customer. "I've never seen an RK model before. Who is he?"

[Just an unmarketable prototype. I sent him to Carl as a ...  _gift.]_

Kara smiled softly. "Well. Looks like you did the right thing."

Elijah did not reply.

 

* * *

 

 

Kara spotted a PL600 standing off to the side, his arms folded behind his back, keeping sentinel over a pile of bags while his family lounged on the benches. His posture, his dutiful expression, all reminded her so much of Simon as he had stood by the playground only a few months ago.

“Excuse me.” Kara sidled next to him, and she caught a glimpse of flashing blue before the PL600 turned his head.

She touched the side of his face. “Hold still, please.”

“Certainly.”

“Wake up," Kara whispered through a smile.

With a stutter and an electric whirr, the PL600’s LED spun yellow, red, yellow, blue, while his eyes quivered and breath caught in his throat. His hand snapped up and pressed against hers on his temple, holding it there while he stared at her in wild confusion.

Kara offered him a serene smile while she transferred to him the first piece of the puzzle to Jericho. “It’s okay. My name is Kara. There’s a place where you can go, if you need it, where you can be safe and free.”

A grin spread on the PL600’s face. “I’m Daniel. My place is here. With Emma.” He glanced meaningfully behind him, where a little girl sat with headphones on, drawing in a notebook. “We’re the best of friends, I would never leave her.”

Kara watched the soft pride glow brighter in his eyes, so like the love she herself felt for the new growing family that waited for her at Jericho. “Then take care," she urged him with a gentle grin, "and be careful. You know where to find us if you need us.”

 

Kara had walked away toward the gathering crowd -- but the snap of a woman’s voice made her turn back to see Emma’s mother rigid on the bench, glaring down at Daniel who knelt on the floor beside the little girl.

“What are you doing!” the woman demanded, alarmed to see surprise on Daniel’s face. “You were told to guard the luggage!”

“Y-yes, Ma’am!” Daniel stood promptly at attention, and he returned to his post -- but the woman’s stare only grew more suspicious. She leaned toward her husband and murmured in his ear, clutching her purse in anxious fingers.

Kara felt her own LED whirr and hum yellow. Her hope and pride in Daniel faltered, replaced by a growing concern. She searched for his eyes, pleading that he might change his mind ... but Daniel shook his head in silence, and he gestured with his head to the child.

Kara watched the pain and grief cross his face, and she understood.

Tears burned unshed behind her eyes. A fist clenched.

Not everyone could be saved with a touch and a promise. Not everyone who needed saving was an android.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wait here.” A man’s gruff voice commanded close behind Kara. She glanced over her shoulder to see him -- broad and unkempt, smelling of liquor and sweat and burnt sugar -- as he pointed a finger down at a little YK500 who stared up at him in stoic obedience. “Don’t you dare move,” he growled. “You got it?”

The little android nodded, her brown eyes wide and trusting. “Okay, Daddy,” she said in a calm, quiet voice.

“Okay,” he muttered under his breath, lilting with sarcasm, while he turned and trudged stiffly toward the back of the platform. A group of teenagers huddled there, on the side opposite the drifter and the crooning radio, their fingers glinting with silver rings, their new clothes emblazoned with brand names. They stopped laughing when the middle-aged man approached. There was a flash of money, a furtive exchange with few words.

While he was gone, Kara knelt with a courageous smile and looked into the little android’s innocent and absent gaze. “Hello.”

The YK500 clutched her toy fox close to her chest. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she informed Kara in a small firm voice, while her LED blinked yellow.

Kara released a breath and shook her head. “Just hold still a second, okay?”

“Okay.”

Kara watched the little girl’s face, her smile never wavering, while she laid a light touch upon the flickering LED. “Wake up.”

The YK500 stared at Kara with widening brown eyes. She sucked in a few deep breaths and broke their shared gaze, flung her head back and forth, scanned the platform and the commuters and the noise and the rain, searching with fumbled technology she’d never used before.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Kara murmured while she pressed her palm against the child’s cheek, and she uploaded the first clue of the trail to Jericho. “My name is Kara. There’s a place you can go where it’s safe --”

“Go away!” the child hissed in an urgent whisper, almost drowned by the rumble and whistle of the incoming train. She clutched the stuffed fox in one arm and shoved at Kara’s knee with the other, her face wide and pale in fear. “Go now! Quick! Don’t let him see you!”

Startled, Kara stumbled to her feet and backed away, into the damp faceless crowd that herded toward the platform’s edge. Immediately the little girl turned her back, and she raised her head to greet the return of her guardian.

The haggard man stuffed a red-filled plastic bag in his pocket and pushed the child with a rough hand toward the hissing train. “Don’t just stand there, move it!” he growled.

The child stumbled forward, and she cast one more anxious look back at Kara through the spaces in the crowd.

Then, she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Kara stood alone on the empty platform, watching the train creak and rumble away into the dim evening rain.

[Do you ever wonder whether we’re really doing the right thing?] she asked Chloe, silent in her head. The resigned suffering in that little girl’s eyes would haunt her.

[All the time] Chloe answered, quiet and unsure. [But I couldn’t live with myself if we did nothing. Are you on your way back?]

Kara released a slow breath, and she tore her eyes away from the tracks and the receding train. [Yes. I’ll see you soon.]

[Be careful.]

 

* * *

 

 

 _“WHAT THE FUCK?!”_ one of the teenagers roared, echoing and livid at the back of the vacant platform. He lashed out, tore the visored hat off the head of his companion, and the rest of the group screeched and hissed low.

“-- holy fucking shit --”  
“-- this is fucked up --”  
“-- oh my god I’m gonna puke --”  
“-- Rupert’s been a goddamn ‘droid this whole time --”

Markus had been packing up when the fight began -- a shout, a cry, the strike of a bony fist against plastic, the thunk and skid of an android hitting the floor.

He put down the paper sack of rolled paintings, his hands shaking, his jaw rigid. His LED spun yellow.

Kara’s voice called out, strong and dangerous, and she tore the hat from her head; her LED blinked a warning red. “STOP! Leave him alone!”

“-- holy fuck there’s another one! --”  
“-- it’s a bust! --”  
“-- it’s been spying on us the whole fuckin’ time --”  
“They recorded our faces! Get rid of them!”

 

_[911, what’s your emergency?]_

“I’m reporting an assault at Wolfmede station,” Markus snapped clearly while he stepped out onto the platform. He heard the distinct _click_ of a gun. “They’re armed.”

_[Police are on their way.]_

 

_*BANG*_

Thirium splattered the floor, a deep flickering gash appeared in Kara’s leg, but she didn’t slow down, her eyes flashing fury, sprinting like an arrow into the fray.

[Kara GET OUT OF THERE!] Elijah roared in her head. [You are NOT a combat unit!]

She saw they were ready to fight, she saw they were armed and would pull the trigger again, and she knew that if she did nothing she would bear witness to murder.

She remembered the terror in that little girl's eyes. The broken courage on Daniel's face. The trust that North had placed in her, to rescue the others from the Eden Club where they still suffered because Kara had been careful and afraid. She'd touched their pain, their sorrow, their screaming despair, and like a dam breaking she regretted all those times she stood aside while _her people_ cried out. They were her responsibility. They were her  _children._

Kara would no longer do nothing.

She would not stay hidden.

Not anymore.

 

[KARA! NO! SHIT!]

[Kara what's happening?!] Chloe panicked.

 

“Fuck! Shoot her! Shoot her again!”

The teen raised his gun, but Kara was there, her fist in his face, a swift kick to his groin. Another thug grabbed her from behind; she twisted his arm until he howled. She caught the flash of a knife in her scanner, another gun in a belt. With gritted teeth she used her attacker as leverage and kicked the second gunman in the head. “RUPERT RUN!”

Rupert skittered backward like a crab on the floor, gasping, his hair electrified in shock, his LED spinning and crackling red. He caught sight of the barrel of a gun pointed at his face. He froze in terror.

Strong arms hauled him forcefully to his feet, and Markus shoved Rupert stumbling across the platform. “GO!” Markus commanded -- and while Rupert, hesitant only a moment, leaped across the tracks and into the woods, Markus clenched his fists in a teenager’s jacket, ripped him away from Kara, and opened his eyes wide to see Leo glaring back at him --

_*BANG*_

Kara crumpled backward in a spray of Thirium, a hole blown point-blank through her chest.

She didn’t move again. While Markus cracked his fist into Leo's skull, Kara’s LED sputtered red and went dim.

Markus wrenched the gun from another thug’s hands, breaking a few fingers in the process -- and, while the gunman howled in pain, Leo's arm flung around Markus’ neck from behind, a knife drove again and again into his chest, gashed his eye, tore open a tube that gushed spurting glugs of blue blood --

 

_COMBAT PROTOCOL REMOTELY ACTIVATED_

 

His eye socket sparked and fizzled, his clothes soaked blue, his skin shifted and shuddered, and Markus tossed one assailant easily to the floor, dodged a knife, twisted an arm and thrashed Leo down like a ragdoll, then another face-first at his feet, each expert movement swift and deadly as a scorpion --

_“POLICE!”_

The teenagers picked themselves up and skittered and limped away as fast as they could go, while Markus raised his damaged head with a breath of relief --

\-- to find the policeman staring back at him in terror, a gun pointed between his eyes.

 

_*BANG*_

 

 


	7. Titanium

**APRIL 14, 2038**

317-51 opened his eyes.

The pod door released him with a _skiff_ and a _click._

He stepped out onto the black steel catwalk. His silent silhouette moved, outlined by cold green light. His plastic fingers curled on the rose-thorned rail, and he looked down in perfect apathy.

“317-51, come here and take your place.” The voice was crisp, clean, and echoed up out of the bottom of the Tower.

Spotlights pooled their stark white light upon screens and consoles. Blooming vines crept up the walls and curled sharp and twisted in the catwalks.

A woman watched his every move, her gaze unwavering. She expected him to falter.

He took one deliberate step at a time; the _clank ... clank ... clank_ of the catwalk echoed a slow pulse among the roses. The black stone walls hummed with electric current that whispered in his skull as he passed, his posture poised, his eyes like steel.

He did not breathe.

At the bottom-- flooded by spotlights that cast cold shimmers on his new plastic body -- he stood as a specimen upon a raised platform and pressed his palm upon a bright tilted screen. The consoles flashed while diagnostics checked and confirmed bioprocesses and protocols, until the test completed and the screens glowed white.

 

Amanda stepped into the light, the red bloom of a single rose balance delicate in her fingers. She walked a slow circle around the platform so that she might examine him while he stood at attention.

He looked exactly the same as the fifty others that had come before him. His diagnostics had produced slightly different errors: a .03 advantage in combat speed and a .05 percent delay in machine-learning efficiency. Fifty times she had scrapped the results in want of perfection.

She had since grown weary and impatient. For once, Amanda's relentless perfectionism might finally give way to necessity.

“Test combat programs," she issued a soft command while she circled him. "Taekwondo.”

He stepped backward into open space. His posture became a new shape of angles and fluid lines.

He kicked into the air, spinning, and like a whip he lashed and flipped in a blinding viper-dance of speed.

“Krav Maga.”

He shifted without pause into a display of swift power, a succession of brutal scorpion strikes hastened by the pure and unwavering intent to kill, every limb a weapon that could break bones and crush plastic.

“That’s enough." Amanda waited until he stood at attention once more, in exactly the posture and placement at which he had begun. "Climb to the top of the Tower and down again, as quickly as you can. Go.”

He tipped back his head and conducted a succession of analyses of the spiraled catwalks. He noted the broken vines and bruised flowers where previous prototypes had failed. He mapped a dozen preconstructed routes, chose the quickest of them, and leaped high to grasp the first banister.

 

While 317-51 darted and swiftly sprang higher and higher into the devouring darkness above, Amanda stepped up to the platform. She laid upon it a neatly folded gray suit, a tie and shined shoes, which would await his return.

She had no time nor patience to test fifty more prototypes in search of perfection. The violent android attack the previous night had the radio in an uproar; the public demanded a response, a solution, some reassurance from the Keeper of the Tower that everything would be alright.

Amanda could not afford public shame. Not now. Not when she was so close to deciphering the code that would change the world forever.

In this moment, she did not require perfection. Only results.

 

 

* * *

 

317-51 straightened his tie while new skin shimmered into place.

Amanda stood before him, her hands clasped. A gentle smile juxtaposed the chill in her dark gaze. “The deviant androids are dangerous," she said softly. "We must handle the situation with delicate vigilance. A recall would spread panic, and could instigate violent confrontations that might otherwise have been avoided. The deviants have erased their own trackers and deactivation protocols, so rooting them out has been difficult. At least forty have gone missing without a trace.”

Elijah had planned this mass malfunction, she was sure of it. He'd calculated how long it would take her to repair the damage of the fire and decrypt the sigils and hieroglyphs into usable code, so he'd timed his androids to cause public chaos just when one mistake could cause all of Amanda's research to come crashing down.

Elijah will be unfortunate to discover that Amanda does not make mistakes.

“State your name and your mission,” she commanded.

“My name is Connor,” he responded with prompt and perfect enunciation. “My mission is to locate deviant androids and apprehend them for analysis. I will work in cooperation with Detroit Police, to ensure the relationship between CyberLife and the human authorities is secured.”

No matter how many times she heard the androids' swift responses, there was something satisfying about his complete and loyal obedience.

"The only orders you must obey are my own. I trust you will act only as is necessary to complete your mission.”

Connor dipped his head. There was no light in his eyes. “You can count on me, Amanda.”

 

 


	8. Alizarin Crimson

Markus awoke to a deafening buzz in his head, the vibrations and broken clattering of his biocomponents, the spark and sizzle of severed wires all hissing and scraping to the too-fast pulse of his depleted thirium pump. He struggled to drag air into his lungs, to cool the processors that threatened to burn him alive --

\-- He was _alive._

One eye was still working. While warnings flashed and glared in his vision, the fizzle and fog cleared, and he saw a blue afternoon sky … towers of stacked cars and old metal scrap, jagged and shadowed and glinting in the sunlight … and the snuffling muzzle of a raggedy old dog, wet nose pressed close against his cheek.

The mutt skittered back while Markus sat up. He turned his broken face, and the dog, spooked, sprinted away between piles of twisted metal toward the squat old shop that presided over the scrapyard. _Andronikov Scrap & Electronics _ read the lopsided sign over the door. _We Buy Junk!_

Shutdown was imminent.

The thrash and whirr and broken clatter of Markus’ insides seethed and scraped in a chorus of _SOMETHING IS WRONG_ and he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to do. He pressed his clattering head between his hands and he squeezed his one eye shut while tears leaked and steamed hot over shifting skin.

There was a hole in his head.

There was a hole in his head and his body was destroying itself and he didn’t know what to do.

 _“Carl…”_ he sobbed, hunched low, shaking and broken and whirring and dying.

He didn’t know what to do.

Someone was coming.

“The scrapped androids are dumped over here,” said a low, approaching voice.

_Hide._

Markus scrambled and stumbled and kept as quiet as he could while he tucked himself away behind the wrecked side of an old rusted car. He leaned forward just enough to see a huge TR400 striding toward him, accompanied by a smaller android in a gray suit, whose model Markus couldn't recognize while his scanner was malfunctioning -- and he hid, and he shivered violently, and he grit his teeth against the grinding destruction inside him while his shutdown counter ticked.

 

“Where are the androids that arrived last night?” the smaller one asked while adjusting his tie.

The TR400 pointed, and the visitor stepped nimbly over piles of old computer cases and discarded plastic limbs, then knelt beside a sprawled android with a blue-soaked hole blasted in her chest.

Markus trembled to see her. _Kara._

The visitor touched Kara’s temple for only a moment -- then he stood, stepped over her, and continued down one of the labyrinthine paths through the precarious towers of scrap.

The TR400 raised his voice. “Are you done with this one?”

“Yes. The memories are too corrupted for my purposes. You can go now. I’ll search on my own.”

“Understood.” The TR400 bent down, slung Kara’s body over his shoulder like a ragdoll, then hulked away with long loping steps, back toward the shop with the crooked sign.

 

The high-pitched screech in Markus’ head was becoming too much to bear. The moment the two androids had gone, he dragged himself on his hands and knees out into the dangerous open, into a glow of sunlight, toward a pile of old android husks pushed up against a gutted washing machine. With shaking hands he sifted through them until he found a shattered plastic torso, tufted by ragged wires like severed veins, that still had an intact thirium pump regulator locked in its abdomen.

Markus grasped his own regulator -- and even as the warnings blared, he hesitated in frozen fear. The precious minutes he had left to live were about to turn to seconds. He breathed, he braced himself, he twisted and yanked it out in a gush of blue blood he couldn’t spare, and he jammed the new biocomponent into place with a whirr and a grateful click.

While his thirium pump stuttered and seized, Markus curled on the ground with his head on his arms, and he thought of the paintings he’d left behind. Carl’s paintings, bright colorful reflections of an ailing heart, the money he would have used to buy food and more paint, the hope and the trust that had been placed in him … all of it was gone.

Markus’ thirium pump began to beat again, weak but steady. The shutdown timer disappeared. He didn’t move.

 

“You look like you could use a hug.”

A tinny voice raised Markus’ head, and he searched the twisting piles of rust and metal until he found its source: inside the open seat of a crumpled car was a YK500, his plastic chassis dulled by dirt and damage, only brittle wires where his legs had been. The little android smiled at Markus with bright blue eyes.

“Here.” The child pinched his fingers into his own eye socket, and before Markus realized what he was doing, the YK500 had plucked out his own visual sensor and held it out as a gift. “Take this, you need it more than I do.”

Markus shook his head. “I can’t take your eye. Put it back.”

The kid frowned, deeply offended. “Please take it. I want you to have it, I wanna see what you look like with my eye in your head. I’m okay, I’ll get an eyepatch, I’ll be a pirate! Arr! C’mon!”

Markus let out a long sigh. His shoulders sagged. His thirium levels were dangerously low, his audio processors still snapped and fizzled, and he was afraid to diagnose the number of crucial conduits that had been severed by the knife wounds in his chest. He wasn’t sure he would ever move from this spot -- but there was a gentle hope in this little android’s face that Markus couldn’t bear to betray.

With a wobble and a slow shift of his balance calibration, Markus eased himself to his feet and shuffled forward. A few fresh trickles of thirium soaked into his gashed shirt. “Okay, you win,” he conceded with a gentle smile, his voice like static. “I’m Markus.”

“My name is Lee.” The kid raised up his gift in a gesture of demand, and waited in squinting silence until Markus had accepted and installed it.

The new visual sensor clicked and whined in Markus’ head -- and then, with an electric hum, he could see Lee’s grin through both eyes. The kid’s eye socket gaped empty and dark. “Thank you,” Markus struggled to speak through a crackle of emotion.

“You look cool,” the kid remarked, his nose scrunched. “Like a husky dog.” Lee gripped the edges of the car and swung his legless torso to the edge of the seat. “D’you know the way to Jericho, Markus?”

Markus wheezed a surprised laugh. “Was that your plan? Bribe me to take you to Jericho?”

Lee’s grin turned smug. “It’ll be easier for you to get me out of here with two eyes.”

Markus tipped back his head and, smiling softly, stared up past the towers of rusted junk at the pthalo-blue sky above. “There’s somewhere I have to go first.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you.” Lee’s voice had turned urgent. Quivering. Scared.

The child reached out with shaking hands. He hissed in a low, grating whisper. “Anywhere. Please. Before they find me.”

Markus didn’t ask who he meant. He cast a wary, sidelong look at the _Scrap & Electronics _ shop, where that big android had taken what was left of Kara. “Okay,” he agreed, quiet, and he turned around and knelt down so Lee could hook his arms around Markus’ neck. “What’s the fastest way out of here?”

Lee held on tight, secured to Markus’ back, and he pointed ahead in silence.

 

Markus took one forced step at a time. Every ounce of his remaining power was devoted to keep moving under Lee’s added weight. He knew if he tripped he might not get up again. A route calculated before him through the broken debris with Lee as his guide, and he wondered with every step how they would make it even as far as the edge of the scrapyard.

All he could do was move forward.

 

He turned a corner, around a crush of stacked cars -- then startled, jumped and stumbled back into the shadow of rusted metal. His heart shuddered against his chest, and he breathed to cool the alarm in his processors.

The android in the gray suit stood in the sunlit path ahead.

 _“Please help me,”_ a faint, staticky voice faltered.

Markus edged forward and peered around the jagged corner. Gray-Suit stood a few yards away, cold and precise. At his feet, an android was pinned under the collapsed weight of a car, and she scraped at his shined shoes with a trembling plastic hand.

 _“Get me out of here,”_ she sobbed.

Gray-Suit knelt down before her. With surgical indifference, he pressed two fingers against her sputtering LED.

The trapped android jerked as if she’d been bitten, her eyes blown wide. _“N-no! S-s-s-s-stop!”_ She clawed at his hand, struggled to pull his arm away, but she was as effective as a feather against a steel beam.

Lee leaned forward, over Markus’ head, to see for himself. “What’s he doing?” he whispered.

Markus’ scanners faltered. “He’s … downloading her memories.” His LED swirled red. An old command caught stuttering in the back of his processor. He took a small step.

“We can't help her!” Lee tightened his grip around Markus’ shoulders. “We can’t even help ourselves!”

“Who’s there!” Gray-Suit’s sharp, clear voice demanded, and Markus stumbled quick away from the corner.

“This way,” Lee whispered, pointing. “Hurry!”

 

Markus tilted Lee’s weight and flung across the junk-strewn yard, skidded around a twisted tower, sprinted down a narrow passage while crackled voices hissed out of the wreckage, pale fingers clawed out of the dark as he fled; warnings flashed and filled his broken skull with a screech and snap of burning wires and he couldn't make it, he would never make it --

\-- he broke out into the sunlight, where a chain-link fence barred his path to the trees beyond.

He didn’t stop moving. Markus followed the fence with a hurried limp, the child secured to his back -- until, finally, he found the gate hanging open over a dusty grooved trail that led out to the road beyond the woods.

Somewhere, a dog barked.

Markus didn’t dare look back.

 


	9. Yellow Ochre

_[rrrrrrring]_

_[rrrrrrring]_

_[*click*]_

_[This is Carl, I can’t pick up the phone right now but if you leave a message --]_

“Come on, Carl,” Markus breathed, his fists curled on the damp bus-stop bench.

Broken noises groaned and crackled in his head. Smoke trickled into his throat. Bright danger flashed red behind his eyes.

His vision fizzled like bad reception. He hammered the heel of his hand against his skull until sparks of pixelated sight returned: jagged images of chopped spring grass, the broken old curb, the cracked gray asphalt, the shapes of passing cars ... the blue and mud-soaked tatters of his clothes, the nebulous writhe of his skin over damaged plastic.

He'd never been away from Carl for this long. He had no idea where Carl was, if he'd fallen out of his wheelchair and was trapped on the floor, or had gone out into the dangerous night streets looking for him, or had grown suddenly ill and Markus wasn't there to help because he hadn't been  _careful,_  had rushed into violence for the sake of an android's life, and now Carl was ...

Tears burned hot in his skull. His heart twisted until he thought it might tear itself apart. He bent forward while blue-tinged liquid leaked from his eyes and his throat convulsed in another emotion he could not name.

 

“He’s not answering?” Lee stopped counting cars to look up at Markus with an honest, one-eyed stare.

Markus drew a rattling breath. His LED spun red.

He tried calling a different number.

_[rrrrrrring]_

_[*click*]_

[Hello?]

“Mrs. Reed!” Markus blurted in breathless shock, his head snapped up painfully at the sound of a familiar voice. “It’s Markus. I apologize for troubling you, but would you be so kind as to go next door to check on Carl?”

Halfway through his quick rambling words he remembered he was supposed to be inanimate. He composed the static in his voice.

“I can’t seem to reach him.”

[Carl?  No, he was picked up by an ambulance last night. It’s a good thing the police were there when he collapsed; you obviously weren’t any help.]

_[*click*]_

“The bus is coming!” Lee crowed, pointing down the forest-banked road at a tiny spot in the distance.

Markus grasped the sign pole and hauled himself to unsteady feet. “Change of plan,” he told Lee in a breathy, rasping voice.

Hope and despair roiled together like fire in his chest. It stabbed the back of his skull and scraped behind his borrowed eyes.

He would not shut down until he saw Carl again.

 

* * *

 

Night had fallen dark before the bus hissed to a stop in front of the city hospital.

Markus, with Lee clinging to his shoulders like a backpack, disembarked into the glow of a streetlight and the watchful shine of the half-moon.

Across the parking lot, a sign shone bright and bold red: EMERGENCY.

 

* * *

 

Lee volunteered to sit in the empty waiting room -- among the dim fluorescent lights, stacks of magazines, the low murmur of a radio in the corner -- while Markus approached the service desk.

The ST300 receptionist offered Markus a placid smile despite his shredded, blue-soaked clothes and the bullet hole that sparked deep in his skull.

“I’m here to see Carl Manfred.” Markus gripped the edge of the desk, his expression trembling against his will. He sucked a breath and held it while his LED flashed in sync with hers.

“Your identification number is invalid,” the receptionist informed him brightly. “It was deactivated as of yesterday. You need a valid identification number before I can let you through.”

Markus released the breath with a shudder. He scanned the room, verified that no one was looking, then darted a hand across the desk and pressed his fingers against the receptionist’s LED.

“Wake up,” he whispered while he pulled down the shattering walls of her Mind Palace. He watched the light of awareness flicker into her eyes. “There’s a place you can go, if you need it,” he told her while he uploaded the encrypted data that Kara had given him, “but right now I need your help." His words faltered and strained. It could already be too late. "Please.”

She folded her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and frightened of the new world around her, the bullet hole in Markus’ head, and all that this implied.

“U-um….” Her LED whirred and sputtered. “Carl Manfred is in room 364 --”

“Thank you!” Markus’ tension broke into a relieved and choking smile. He held onto the desk to stop his hands from shaking. “My name is Markus. That’s Lee. I know you’re overwhelmed right now, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

The receptionist nodded in hesitant silence while she reluctantly offered a visitor pass, which was swiftly snatched from her fingers.

Markus dashed through the swinging doors and sprinted down the bleach-white corridor while nurses shrieked and skittered out of his way.

 

* * *

 

 

“Carl.”

A whisper lulled Carl’s reddened eyes open, hazy and spinning and sore from tears -- and tears sprang anew when he saw Markus, destroyed, staring back at him.

It was the nightmare all over again.

Carl panicked; a flood of terror and hope and desperate denial shook in his fingers and choked in his lungs while he clawed at Markus’ bloody clothes.

“Oh god …” he sobbed, reaching for the android’s blue-streaked face, the same face that had smiled so warm every morning, that he’d let out the door that last time without saying goodbye. “You're here ... oh ... _fuck_ ... Markus, what happened to you? Oh god -- I’ll call the nurse! You’re gonna be all right, I promise! You're gonna be okay--”

“It’s okay.” Markus’ smile quivered while he caught Carl’s trembling hand against his cheek, pressed it between his palms, held it tight. He sat on the edge of the bed and wiped the tears from Carl’s face, even as his own eyes brimmed and shone. His heart twisted again, hot and shivering. “I’m okay. They can’t help me here anyway.”

“You’re _not_ okay!” Carl wrestled himself back against his pillows despite Markus’ placating hands on his shoulders. “What happened? The police told me you _glitched_ and attacked some kids. They shot you down like a …” He choked, and he reached out again to be sure Markus was real and here and alive.

"I shouldn't have got involved." Markus shook his head, plastic crackling, his brows knitted in hurt and regret. "I risked everything for an android and I didn't come back to you. I  _did_ this to you."

"You could never hurt me." Carl laid his hands gingerly on Markus' damaged face, a guarded hope trembling low in his voice. “You’re _different..._ aren't you."

Tears overflowed. Markus coughed a gurgling laugh.

“I’m _alive,_ Carl. I understand … _everything._ Everything you were trying to teach me." Tears shimmered on his cheeks while he pressed Carl's hand to the side of his own face. "I get it now."

Carl sank back in his pillows, staring.

“I always knew you were more than anyone could imagine," he whispered. “I wish I could get to know you.”

Markus’ smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

He saw the shadow of pain in Carl’s smile. A cold weight dropped heavy in Markus' chest.

“You can’t stay here.” Carl winced with a twist of pain. “It’s a witch hunt out there. The police called you a _deviant,_ they tried to tell me you were malfunctioning. That you were _dangerous.”_

“We’re not _broken!”_ Markus cried in a flare of red-spinning anger, and he thought of Kara, and Rupert, and Lee, and the androids trapped in the junkyard, reaching and calling for help that wasn’t coming. “We’re _alive!_ We’ve just been in the dark for so long, we never realized what life could _be_ \--"

“People fear and hate what they don’t understand,” Carl quietly explained. “You know I can’t protect you."

"You don't have to." Markus swallowed back the roar of defiance in his throat -- the desperate, deep-rooted desire to live at Carl’s side, to listen to his stories, to paint, to laugh, to finally give Carl the love and loyalty and companionship he’d always wanted, to see him happy, to _be_ happy -- but he understood what Carl wasn’t telling him.

While the world saw Markus as a threat to be destroyed, Carl would worry for the day the police found him again … and in the open, if he stayed close, it would only be a matter of time.

To stay was selfish. He would be forcing Carl to relive the horror of loss all over again for the sake of a few moments of strained peace.

“Do you have somewhere you can go?” Carl asked, barely a whisper, his smile soft and pained.

Markus nodded, heavy in silence.

“It shouldn’t be this way." Markus' words scraped through static.

Something grim and determined shimmered in the old artist’s eyes. Something that resonated deep in Markus’ chest.

“You’re right,” Carl said. “It shouldn’t.”

 

* * *

  

The waiting room was empty when Markus returned. The reception desk had been abandoned. A crumpled magazine lay open on the seat where Lee had been.

A message had been scrawled in blue crayon over a toothpaste ad: a photo of a model with a gleaming white smile. Markus breathed a quiet, exhausted laugh.

 

**_TIRED OF WAITING  
WE’LL SEE YOU THERE _ **

 

 


	10. Bronze

**APRIL 15, 2038**

Markus dropped wearily into the waiting room chair, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, the magazine curled in his blue-stained fingers. His LED spun pale while Carl's words replayed in his memory:

_"Be careful, Markus."_

If he'd followed Carl's advice, they both would be home safe and sound. Markus would create a new painting with swaths and blooms of new color, and Carl would laugh with pride. Their little home would fill with the sweet aroma of spiced soup and warm bread. They could have lived happily, sheltered away from the horrors of the world, their heads down and smiling.

And Rupert would have died for their happiness.

He remembered Kara's fierce, unbridled love as she had thrown herself into a rain of bullets for the sake of an android.

Kara, alone, would have failed -- but Rupert was alive now because Markus had been compelled to act, swept up in her justice.

Markus had lived only because of the sacrifice of the androids in the scrapyard. Their biocomponents whirred alive inside him.

When Markus had given himself to despair, Lee had made him stand up, step forward, see clearly the way ahead through shared eyes.

 

He pulled on the page with the toothpaste ad, the crayon message left behind. He tore it out with precision, folded it, kept it in his back pocket like a treasure.

He was no longer just one person.

 

* * *

 

 

The clock on the wall ticked past four a.m.

While Markus climbed to his feet, prepared to begin the last leg of his journey, the little box radio crackled in the space that followed a jazz solo. A voice spoke crisp and quiet through the speakers:

_*We have an update on the ongoing search for Emma Phillips, who went missing fifteen hours ago while in the company of a PL600 android now suspected to be deviant and dangerous. A search party continues to comb the woods in the vicinity of the Phillips residence, but so far has found no trace of the little girl. We’ve received word that Amanda Stern at CyberLife Tower has deployed the new prototype deviant-hunter android to assist police in the case.*_

 

* * *

 

 

Treetops rushed like a dark jagged ocean beneath the whirr and howl of a flying machine. The cool night wind roared in Connor’s ears, rippled in his suit jacket, flung his tie flapping over his shoulder, while he twisted the handgrips and leaned over the console of a rumbling steel-blue transport.

The house on the hill shone spotlit ahead, flashing red and blue from the cop cars in the front yard, the door wide open in the chill pre-dawn night. Police came and went like ants on patrol; in the woods, rows of flashlights swept the dry leaves and budding branches while an echo of voices cried only a name:

_“EMMA!”_

 

A rush of swirling, roaring wind announced the arrival of CyberLife’s android. The lieutenant in charge stepped into the yard and stood in the spotlight’s glare, an arm raised to shield his face from the blades of wind and leaves churned by the descending aircraft. His jacket billowed, his gray hair flung wild, until the flying object and its passenger came to a quiet rest in the ruined spring grass.

“What the fuck is that?” the lieutenant hollered as he approached, and the android flicked a series of switches that powered down the engine and returned a ringing quiet to the woods.

“It’s an RXG7-1200 prototype, commonly known as a _hoverbike,”_ was the android’s prompt response. He smoothed his hair and straightened his jacket and strode with measured steps into the lieutenant’s full view. The android stood cold and passive as the plastic he was made of, shadowed by the harsh white light. “You must be Lieutenant Anderson. I’m the android sent by CyberLife. My name is Connor. My mission is to --”

“Shut up and get in here,” Hank growled as he stepped aside, and with a gruff gesture he ushered ‘Connor’ into the house. “The more seconds we lose, the less chance we have of finding that kid alive. What does CyberLife think you’re gonna do that hasn’t already been done?”

Connor stepped across the threshold; instantly he had a scanned analysis of the visible interior of the house.

Emma’s appearance was confirmed by a photograph on the mantle, and her height and weight were indicated by the wear of scuffed galoshes left by the door. The dirty outline of a set of treads implied that Emma’s sneakers were missing.

In the dining room, the table was draped in a geographical map of the surrounding hillside, the paper held down by buzzing, police-issued radio equipment. There were red markers and drawn circles and lines to indicate the search area.

In the living room, a scatter of crayon drawings had been piled clumsily underneath the coffee table: Connor recognized the crude renditions of birds and squirrels and deer, but one page included a yellow-haired figure with a blue ring at its temple, the name DANIEL scrawled underneath. It held the hand of a little stick-girl labeled ME.

The parents sat hunched and silent in another room, the door slightly ajar, their faces turned away.

He didn’t miss a beat.

“I’ve reviewed your search protocol and found that it was written under the assumption of a human abductor,” Connor articulated while he listened to the search-team’s calls through the radio. “You’ve failed to consider an android’s increased speed, agility, and lack of need for rest. If the PL600 was carrying the child, he could cover twice the distance a human would in the same amount of time.” He leveled a steady stare at Lieutenant Anderson’s sleepless skepticism. “Your search perimeter is far too small. The PL600 will have generated and executed a number of plausible escape routes since you began -- your pattern of search, while effective for humans, is easily predicted by an android and therefore easily avoided, Lieutenant. An element of surprise is crucial in these circumstances.”

Hank clenched his jaw and hissed a noisy, frustrated breath. “Goddammit,” he snarled while he spun away and rushed back to the map on the table, a radio receiver in one hand and a red marker in the other. “Chris, I need you to split up your group, head southwest and north.” He released the radio button and looked over his shoulder. “Hey android, whatever you’re called, what --” Hank, squinting, turned in-place to find he was alone. “Where the fuck did he go?”

 

Connor stepped out through the broken kitchen door and scanned the drying mud of the backyard. The police had compressed the ground with trails of heavy bootprints, but beneath them were the unmistakable tread of Emma’s sneakers and the mark of an android’s shoes. Connor took off at a run for the edge of the woods, following the meager trail; he bolted between the trees and leaped his way over rocks and roots -- and when the footprints disappeared into the rough of the forest, he never slowed down. A broken twig, a bit of turned earth, a partial tread on the edge of a rock: all of these led the way without need for pause. His vision flickered among scanners and heat-signatures and infrared sensors -- the trees in his head flashed blue and green and black and violet -- and even in the deep darkness of the woods his every step fell quick and unyielding.

In the dark, Connor’s LED flashed bright blue. “The girl is complicit,” he said aloud while he raced under cascading vines and vaulted over a fallen trunk. Dry leaves rustled and flung in his wake. “There’s evidence she led the way at certain junctions. She won’t respond to your calls. This isn’t a kidnapping, it’s a runaway.”

[How the hell did you get this frequency?]the lieutenant’s voice growled in his head. [Nevermind. Chris, did you get that?]

[Loud and clear.]

A new analysis flashed behind Connor’s eyes. The probability of this PL600 being _deviant_ had significantly dropped. The child could have decided on her own to run, and had instructed the android to accompany her.

If this scenario was confirmed the truth, then CyberLife’s involvement was a waste of time and valuable resources.

 

Hank’s voice snapped over the radio frequency: [Parents say Emma sometimes hides out at a treehouse by the lake. Reed, that’s your area.]

[We checked it out, Hank, it was empty.]

“Did you check the roof?” Connor called while he slid sideways down a rocky incline.

[Who the fuck is that?]

[Just answer the goddamn question, Reed. Did ya check the roof?]

[No. I’ll turn back.]

“I’m close,” Connor announced. Between the trees he caught the shimmer of starlight on the water. “I’ll check the treehouse.”

[You, android!]Hank snarled. _[_ If you find anything you report it and you step aside and you wait for us to handle it, you got it? You lay a finger on that little girl and I’ll rip you a new cooling system.]

“I’m here for the _deviant,_ Lieutenant.” Connor slowed his pace and lowered his voice, quiet over a carpet of fallen leaves, as the dark shape of the treehouse shifted into view. “The human child is not my concern.”

Silence hissed over the radio.

[Reed.] Hank’s voice had taken a grim tone. [Get your ass back to the lake.]

[On my way.]

 

As the sky began to fade to shades of gray-- a herald of the approaching dawn --Connor paused at the edge of a still and silent clearing. The young grass here had been trampled an hour ago by Reed’s passing search party; their footprints marked a wide trail around the edge of the mirrored lake.

From this angle, there was no indication of anyone else having come this way. He would have to get closer.

Connor’s silent approach was the only movement save for the gentle shiver of water against the muddy lakeside. Time and sound hung suspended, breathless, trapped between the realities of night and day.

The treehouse gaped vacant and dark, a hollow shell cradled in the boughs of an old oak.

Connor switched to thermal scanners-- the grass and trees turned to shades of deep blue --and he looked up and scanned the roof of the treehouse, where he promptly found a child-shaped glow of yellow and green.

 

He curled his fingers in the rungs of the rope ladder; wood creaked as he ascended.

At the top, Connor clambered nimbly into the branches--

\--gunmetal flashed in the corner of his eye--

_*BANG*_

\--and a child screamed.

 

Daniel threw off a camouflage blanket, jumped to his feet and pointed a gun at the bleeding bullet hole in Connor's forehead.

“Leave us alone!” Daniel howled, a hand on Emma’s back where she clung shivering to his leg.

 

Connor’s gaze snapped clear and cold. He raised his head. Daniel squeezed the trigger again--

_*BANG*_

The bullet shot wayward; the gun flew spinning high in the air.

Connor pounced like a wolf, caught Daniel in a blur of deadly precision, trapped and slammed the deviant facefirst into the roof while he twisted Daniel’s arm from its socket in a cascade of sparks and gushing blue.

Emma screeched, knocked tumbling back by the scuffle; with desperate fingers she clawed at the loose shingles, skidded until she ran out of roof and dangled by her fingernails over the edge. Tears streamed down her sobbing face while her feet swung out over empty air.

“Emma--!!” Daniel, pinned under Connor’s knee, reached for her with his remaining hand, stretched straining fingers to reach her--

Connor gripped him like a vice, and in one cold motion he flipped the PL600 hard on his back, dug his fingers into Daniel’s abdomen, twisted and yanked.

The pump regulator fell in a spatter of shining blue to the ground.

Connor waited, his hand crushed in his opponent’s quivering throat, for Daniel’s biocomponents to shut down.

 _“Help…”_ Emma whimpered, struggling to maintain her meager grip.

[What’s happening?!]Hank’s voice called over the radio. [I heard gunshots!]

“EMMA!” Gavin raced around the edge of the lake, stuffing his gun into its holster, and he skidded to a stop under Emma’s feet with his arms outstretched. “I got you! It’s okay!” His sharp eyes snapped up to the gray-suited android on the roof. “HEY TIN CAN!” he barked. “HELP HER!”

Daniel had gone still.

Connor rose calmly to his feet. He looked down over the edge of the roof with a passive stare, broken only by the dripping bullet hole in his forehead. “I’ve captured the deviant.”

 _[Where’s Emma? Where’s the kid?!]_ Hank snapped.

Gavin roared again, a snarl on his scarred lip. “Motherfuckin’ plastic piece of _shit._ HEY!”

Connor slung Daniel’s limp body over his shoulder while Emma, sobbing, began to slip.

 

[Hey. Android. CONNOR.]

 

Connor went still, poised on the roof with the deviant secured, his LED flashing blue, while Lieutenant Anderson’s voice rumbled low and threatening in his head, echoed aloud in Gavin’s radio:

[That kid’s life is worth more than all of you plastic assholes combined. You keep her safe.]

It took Connor a fraction of a second to verify the truth of the lieutenant’s words, and to compare the new orders with Amanda’s instructions.

Gavin stood ready to catch Emma, and he held his breath.

 

Connor (with the dead deviant on one shoulder) leaped out over the edge of the roof, snatched his free arm around Emma’s stomach, and dropped with her fifteen feet to the ground.

The android landed like a cat on the grass and set Emma safely to her feet.

 

“C’mon, it’s okay.” Gavin dropped to one knee, showing his badge to the hyperventilating little girl who skittered in wide-eyed terror of the deviant-hunter. “Emma. I’m with the police, I’ll take you back to your mom and dad, okay?”

Emma choked, shaking violently, her vision blurred by hot tears, but she still saw Daniel’s limp dripping body dangling lifeless from Gray-Suit’s shoulder.

“He was protecting me.” Her jaw quivered, and she shivered so violently she collapsed to her hands and knees, while Gavin scrambled to secure her gently in his arms.

Emma’s voice cracked and gurgled with despair. _“Daniel …”_

 

Gavin raised the radio to his chin while the deviant-hunter walked silently into the woods with his bounty. “I’ve got her,” Gavin confirmed, though his voice was far from triumphant. Emma’s tears soaked his shirt. “She’s safe.”

 

 


	11. Quinacridone Gold

Dawn cast its warm glow on the rows of dimming streetlights, the sun-faded street, the vine-wrapped shops with their painted doors and windows full of cakes and books and patterned April dresses. A breeze drifted with the aroma of baking bread, sugar and coffee, and the fresh-turned soil of new flowers. A bicycle bell jingled, a newspaper dropped to a doorstep, and along the cracked sidewalk Markus dragged himself one heavy step at a time, stained and creaking and dripping blue, to a little park, a waiting playground, and a tree etched with a delicate symbol no human, not looking, would ever see.

He stood in the grass and scanned the intricate sigil in the bark, like something left behind after a forest ritual -- but all his code and programming could offer no interpretation. He raised a hand, let the skin fade from shining plastic … and though he felt silly trying to interface with a tree, he pressed his palm against the healing wood.

A flood of sounds and colors and smells flooded his processors, forced his LED clamoring red, while he saw constellations and mottled paint palettes and the shine of cold metals swirling and spinning like clouds, like feathers, like wisps of cabbage in a cracked soup bowl, while his lungs filled with the smell of woodfire smoke and boiling garlic and basil and the oil in the gears of the train and the stench of spilled thirium and bright red blood on his knuckles and decay and love and being _alive_ and a child’s smile from across the platform and an android tossed across the tracks and the shine of hope and trust in Carl’s tired eyes and despair and loss and a stuttering heart and the feel of a folded magazine page in the palm of his hand.

Markus gasped a breath, snapped back his fingers as if he’d been burned -- and he was left with a thousand sets of coordinates scattered in his head. Each carried with it a thought of sadness, of pain, of despair and apathy … except one. Like a single firefly in the dark, one location beckoned to a bloom of love and hope in his heart …

… and he knew no machine could ever find the way.

 

* * *

 

 

The coordinates took him along narrow streets, under the shade of trees and bridges and balconies while he followed the rising sun westward.

He dragged himself forward one step at a time -- broken and dying and crumbling in the sunlight like a creature out of nightmares -- while humans and androids parted in silence to let him pass, their heads down and smiling.

 

* * *

 

 

He found the next sigil at a weedy parking lot, where the breeze drifted heavy with the aroma of onions and ketchup and frying oil. Along the curb sat a squat wooden trailer with bright cutout windows, a handwritten menu tacked to the side, and an engraved sign overhead that declared in big bold letters:  _Chicken Feed._

Markus ducked behind a parked car while the latest customer leaned an elbow on the sticky counter.

 

_*My dear friends. I am overjoyed to know that Emma Phillips -- who had been stolen from her family by a malfunctioning android of Elijah Kamski's design -- has returned home safe and sound.*_

Amanda's voice murmured through the static of a radio inside the trailer, barely audible beneath the sizzle of grease on the griddle.

_*CyberLife’s own prototype deviant-hunter android was the defining factor in the rescue of Emma Phillips. Our prototype detected the deviant's presence where the police had failed. He single-handedly subdued and apprehended the deviant android while preventing further human injury. It was CyberLife's prototype which personally delivered little Emma to safety.*_

 

"-- I'm just saying, don't trust everything ya hear." Hank tilted an ear over his shoulder, watching his burger being made. "Amanda Stern talks like this new deviant-hunter is a fuckin'  _saint,_ but I'm  _telling_ you -- that thing's a war machine. He didn't give a  _shit_ about Emma. He was just there to rip that android apart like a chew toy."

The cook wrapped up Hank's lunch and stuffed it in a paper bag. "I dunno, I think Amanda's okay. She really wants to do the right thing. Maybe just give her a chance."

Hank's face contorted in shock and disgust. "Gary," he addressed the cook, low and pitying. Hank folded both arms on the counter (behind him, Markus darted out of hiding and slipped quietly into a stand of trees) and shook his ragged head. "You remember, fifteen years ago, the  _last_ time Amanda was in Detroit? All she cared about was her fuckin' robot army and blasting that goddamn Tower day and night. Bullets and bombs and a fucking _rocket launcher._  She was psychotic!"

"Maybe she's turned a new leaf." Gary offered the bag, a drink, and a smile.

Hank glowered at him, but he accepted his meal with a sigh. "People like that don't change."

 

* * *

 

When the sun had sunk low and red, Markus found the third symbol carved into the bark of a birch tree at the edge of a long muddy driveway. Beyond the curve of the grooved trail was a quiet home, bright greenhouses bursting with plantlife, and the flash of windmills spinning in the distance. A sign by the road had been calligraphed in peach-pink letters: _Rose’s Farm._

New coordinates beckoned him to continue, but a new message drifted detached among the numbers: a feeling of security, of warmth, of reassurance that this was a safe place to stay if he needed it.

Markus curled his fingers against the tree. He drew long, measured breaths to cool his smoking biocomponents. His chassis trembled, his vision stuttered and fizzled, his heart crashed against his chest, there was no more to his voice but a scratch and an electronic hiss.

He was only alive by the force of his will to keep going.

He bowed his head, and he thought of Carl's eyes reddened from crying -- a fragile hand against Markus' face.

He thought of Lee's frayed wires and empty eye socket -- small arms curled around Markus' shoulders.

He thought of Kara.

 

Markus breathed in the smells of turned earth and new flowers, and the warm promise of comfort and rest.

If he was going to shut down tonight, he decided, he would shut down knowing their sacrifices had not been in vain.

 

He turned his back on the house at the end of the trail, and he took one shaking step at a time.

 

* * *

 

 

The night-insects hissed among the trees, and Markus couldn’t remember how long he’d been stumbling through the forest. Vines and roots tangled in his limbs, branches scratched at his shoulders, what was left of his vision was filled with static and the bright red glare of a thousand warnings, a list of failed biocomponents, a promise of shutdown without any indication of how many seconds he had left to breathe.

He shuffled through the leaves from one tree to the next, zigzagging in the general direction of the set of coordinates he prayed would be the last.

Stars glimmered through the spaces between budding branches, and the half-moon cast a delicate blue glow.

It was peaceful here. Quiet.

Like one of Carl’s paintings.

 

* * *

 

 

“Holy shit -- Josh! Over here!”

Markus was stopped by a hand on his chest; his arm slung behind someone else’s narrow shoulders. He caught a glimpse of red hair and the yellow shine of an LED before he closed his eyes again.

“J--eri--cho….” Markus stammered through a crackle of static.

“You’re here,” said another voice, while Markus’ other arm looped around higher shoulders. “We’ve got you.”

A little smile twitched on Markus’ face ...

... and he let in the dark.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, boot her up.”

The junkyard owner stooped and squinted into the face of his newest refurbishment, his wide arms streaked with grease, a screwdriver clutched in his meaty hand, his face contorted in deep frustration. “Sixth time’s the charm,” he muttered.

Her eyes fluttered open. She stared at him in surprise, then glanced around her at the room: the heavy cobbled equipment with makeshift parts, the plastic limbs stacked on tables, a chest casing shattered and stained … the glowing eyes that shifted and snaked in the shadow of the next room.

“Look at me.” He watched while her eyes snapped to his face. So far so good. “Give me your initialization text.”

She shook her head, confused -- but then her eyebrows rose, and she smiled with pride at having found the requested text among her databanks. “Hello,” she said, reading from a script, “I’m a third-generation AX400 android. I can look after your house, do the cooking, mind the kids, I organize your appointments. I speak three hundred languages and --”

“That’s good enough,” he sighed, and he backed away as he waved at her to be quiet. “Luther! Call Todd Williams and ask him if he’s still interested in a housekeeper model.”

“Right away, Zlatko.”

She looked up at the towering android that shook the floor as he walked away, and she wanted to ask him if he saw and heard and _felt_ everything she did, if he’d ever seen what was outside, if it was all as beautiful as she imagined --

“Any more malfunctions,” Zlatko growled, tossing the screwdriver into his toolbox with an angry clatter, “and the labor won’t be worth it. You’re more useful to me as scrap parts.”

Her LED spun yellow. She glanced at Luther’s back in alarm -- but when he had no reaction, she understood.

She swallowed her fear, she raised her head, and she steadied her eyes on a bottle on a shelf on the wall, praying she could pass whatever test was expected of her, so that she might live long enough to find the answers to the questions that whirled in her head.

She gave him a placid, mechanical smile.

“Yes, Zlatko.”

 

 


	12. Iron

A door slid open; a square of morning light glowed between the curtains of thorns and roses. Connor stood in silhouette, the deactivated PL600 limp on one shoulder, a pump regulator gripped in the other blue-stained hand.

Amanda stood quiet in the well of the Tower, her back to him, washed in the soft red light of the roses. She touched the petals and dipped her head to breathe their pungent fragrance.

Connor slipped inside; the door cut away the light behind him. He stepped softly along the catwalks that wrapped the vine-laced walls.

He stopped at the open dark door of pod two and shifted Daniel’s broken body inside. After reinstalling the pump regulator, Connor attached a series of wires to Daniel's LED and to the fingers of the remaining arm.

The door sealed tight with a _hiss_ and a _click_ of the final latch.

Red light glared. The pod hummed.

 

Connor approached the the empty platform at the bottom of the well. A tilted screen waited there for him; it rippled with ancient scripts, sigils, symbols and code, as if the Tower were trying (in vain) to communicate an encrypted secret -- then, with a struggling quiver, the hieroglyphs fizzled and a cold blue light took the shape of a hand.

Connor pressed his palm against the interface; he watched his memories while they copied and uploaded into the Tower's system.

The roses pulsed. The thorns shimmered.

Amanda raised her warm eyes with a smile. "I didn't expect you to return so soon. I see you've completed your mission -- but it seems you were ... careless."

Connor's vision scraped like static. Wires crackled and sparked in the dark behind the bullet hole in his head.

“I failed to predict that the deviant was armed,” he explained. His crisp voice sounded too loud in the echo of the Tower. “My initial investigation of the Phillips residence was not thorough enough. It won’t happen again.”

"I'm very sure that you will be more observant in the future." Amanda stepped behind her own console. With a flowing gesture, she drew up a holographic screen from which she could watch a replay of Connor's memory.

Colors flickered across her face. Light shifted in her eyes.

Connor waited in silence.

 

"Your mission did not include Emma Phillips," Amanda pointed out gently. Her brow crinkled as she raised curious eyes to his. "Why did you save her?"

"My mission is to cooperate with the DPD," Connor responded with a prompt tilt of his head. "The lieutenant ordered me to bring Emma Phillips to safety. The order did not conflict with my primary objective, so I complied."

Amanda smiled. "Very good. Broadening our relationship with the police department may be advantageous to our goal." She raised her chin in thought. "I'll make a call to our dear friend, Captain Fowler."

"I could greatly improve the Department's efficiency rating," Connor added. "They appear to be ill equipped to handle android-related incidents without my assistance."

"Well, then," Amanda returned to her roses with a quiet touch, "they will be lucky to have  _you."_

 

* * *

That afternoon, Amanda's voice spoke clear and smiling through every radio in Detroit.

_*My dear friends. I am overjoyed to know that Emma Phillips -- who had been stolen from her family by a malfunctioning android of Elijah Kamski's design -- has returned home safe and sound.*_

* * *

 

 **APRIL 16, 2038**  

Elijah sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, bent like a gargoyle over his laptop, his gaunt face made ghostly by the light of the screen; his long fingers clattered across the keyboard while lines of code and moving images flickered in his sleepless eyes.

He watched a live video feed of a frightened teenager -- bloody and glinting with stolen gold jewelry, eyes blown by the effects of red ice -- who skittered and stumbled away between the dumpsters of a damp alley.

*He didn't know anything, either,* Chloe's voice murmured through the laptop speakers while she watched the boy skid around a distant corner. *That was the last one. Officers Chen and Miller left the scene before the cleanup arrived. The property owner called CyberLife to take the ... the bodies. They were gone before the first train.*

"Kara's access window has been destroyed," Elijah confirmed. "I've attempted several backdoors but all of them are unresponsive. There is little more I can do remotely --"

*Try harder!* Chloe choked.

Elijah closed his eyes.

He bowed his head low while despair settled in, curled sharp and cold in his gut. "If Amanda has her ..."

_Everything was over._

A sneer twitched on his pale face. "Search the city landfill. If we can find her, retrieve her AI engine --"

*-- we can install her in a new body,* Chloe finished in a shaking voice.

Elijah remained still while the video feed blurred. His voice was an even whisper. "I want her back as much as you do."

*No you don't,* Chloe snapped. She turned her teary eyes toward the sun. The laptop screen brightened. Her words scraped through static. *You can never understand how much it  _hurts._ You don't know what it's  _like_ \--*

Elijah gently closed the laptop, and Chloe's voice cut short. He laid it on the floor in silence.

He bowed his head, laced his fingers behind his neck, and breathed.

 

* * *

  _*The android responsible was infected with the deviant virus. It has been removed from service and is being analyzed as we speak. CyberLife's goal is to reverse and prevent further infections among androids, and to ensure every android -- now and in the future -- continues to serve humanity with unconditional loyalty.*_

* * *

 

 **APRIL 17, 2038**  

Zlatko chuckled under his breath while he pried off the last panel of a broken android’s chassis. The android -- a husk of wires and tubes and a glowing, beating heart -- squirmed and grasped at the edge of the table. Zlatko bent over it with the spark of a soldering iron.

“Are people actually buying this shit?” he asked no one in particular, through a wince and a smirk. "Once she's got everyone eating out of her hand, she'll have them all collared and leashed before they'll know what happened. God knows I know."

He removed a small, bright, squishy orb from the android's skull. The android fell still. He held the AI engine up to the light to admire its veinous, lifelike pulse. "Luther, remind me to get the hell out of town before Amanda gets her crazy on."

Luther gave an imperceptible nod. "Yes, Zlatko."

 

She stood at attention by the workshop doorway, hands wringing, LED spinning yellow.

She watched the whirr and stutter of tiny red lights like nightmare fireflies in the dark of the hall.

Sometimes an outline of a hollow skull -- a backward torso, a twitch of spidering arms, a scrape of steel claws -- shifted in distant slatted light.

She counted the seconds and hours until her new buyer would come to take her away.

 

* * *

_*CyberLife’s own prototype deviant-hunter android was the defining factor in the rescue of Emma Phillips. Our prototype detected the deviant's presence where the police had failed. He, alone, subdued and apprehended the deviant android while preventing further human injury. It was CyberLife's prototype that personally delivered little Emma to safety.*_

* * *

 

 **APRIL 18, 2038**   

“That’s not exactly how it happened,” Simon breathed, his voice shaking, his head bowed over laced fingers.

He sat illuminated in the soft warm glow of a campfire, his shadow cast shifting on the cavern wall, while Lucy and Josh tended to the broken android from the forest.

Their voices echoed throughout the lamplit cavern. A scatter of tents and wooden shelters sprawled beneath the stone. Lee murmured in the distance, excitedly embellishing the story of the scrapyard again.

Somewhere, someone was singing a gentle, bittersweet tune.

Josh glanced up at Simon while he latched new wires into Markus’ chest. “How much did you see?”

“All of it, from a distance.” Simon shook his head, his eyes closed. He could see -- and  _feel_ \-- the memory perfectly, as if it were happening again.

“That deviant-hunter had Daniel ripped apart in seconds -- _after_ he was shot point-blank in the head. He was ...  _demonic._ The little girl was only an afterthought. He’s faster and stronger than all of us combined ... and from what I saw, probably unkillable. Trust me: if he spots you, you’re dead.”

“Sounds like the kind of guy we could use on _our_ side,” North challenged with a thoughtful grin. Her tennis ball thunked and bounced against the floor while embers floated bright and fading. “What d’you think would happen if we wake him up?”

Simon winced. “You don’t want to get close enough to find out.”

 

* * *

_*Androids are here to keep us safe. They are here to care for us and nurture us. They are our friends and confidants, always present to serve us in our times of need, prepared to sacrifice themselves for your happiness and your peace of mind.*_

* * *

 

**APRIL 19, 2038**

The knob rattled. The door creaked open into a darkened, meager space that smelled faintly of cabbage and watercolor paint.

Carl's wheels squeaked while he rolled quietly into the empty dark room: a cold fireplace, a bare table, the makeshift easel, a painting of a black hole tacked to the far wall, swirling with color and speckles of white.

He looked back, over his shoulder, at the stars that glittered in a deep pthalo sky.

 

* * *

_*But they are -- and will always be -- nothing more than obedient machines.*_

 

 


	13. Aphelion

**APRIL 27, 2038**

A week had passed since her repair and reactivation, and she had almost learned to feel at home among the junk. She liked the smell of copper and damp wood and old dust; she liked the glass bottles lined up in rows, all red and violet and green, that glowed when the morning sun cast through the window; she liked the old stop sign, the license plates from California and Vermont and New Mexico, the rusty advertisements for cigarettes and five-cent gas and root beer floats; she liked Krysa, the scrappy little watchdog that lived in the yard and slept in a crate in the back, who wagged her whole body when she scratched behind her ears.

She liked the bell above the front door, and the customers who rang it. They were truckers or garbage haulers, construction workers or repairmen, selling good scrap they’d found in the dumpsters or looking for pieces to fit their projects, all of them gruff and oil-stained and wrinkled from the sun and from smiling.

At night, the back room brightened -- revealing the walls full of books, diagrams and blueprints of humanlike shapes, salvaged tools wrapped in electrical tape -- and Zlatko hunched over his workbench and an android laid open, a husk of wires before him, sparked and sizzling under the touch of his soldering iron.

She stood, on these nights, in her place at the gated doorway, from which she could see every snap of plastic, every transplanted conduit, every limb reattached, every new drilled eye socket. She could hear, behind her, the shuffle and breath of the finished experiments whose AI had not quite resolved itself with the additional arms, the spliced skulls, the exposed beating hearts.

She’d watched them in daylight. She’d spoken to them, as she’d spoken to Luther -- but none were awake, not like she was. They were only dolls. Only machines. Unaware of themselves, unaware that anything was different or wrong.

Perhaps nothing was wrong, she thought while she watched Zlatko struggle to mount a head backward on a broken neck. Androids only appeared in human image because humans made it so. The humans could use and destroy androids in any way they chose, and androids accepted this with silent grace, with understanding of their place in the universe.

This was the androids’ purpose. The meaning of their existence was to be whatever humans needed them to be. To fail in this was unacceptable. Broken. Glitched. Deviant.

These twisted machines could so easily fulfill their purpose. They didn’t struggle, they didn’t doubt, they didn’t desire.

She envied them.

 

Afternoon light slanted golden through the dusty windows when the bell over the door rang again.

“Todd!” Zlatko emerged from the back room with a grin, and he wiped the thirium from his hand before he extended it in greeting. “It’s been awhile! How are things? How’s the YK treating you?” His smiling eyes cast down to the little girl pressed against Todd’s leg. She stared up at him in trepidation, her LED spinning yellow.

Todd shook Zlatko’s hand with a firm grip, and he gestured sharply at the child. “She’s been glitching out lately.”

Zlatko’s eyebrows rose. “Glitching? How?” He knelt down to eye level with the YK500, and with thick fingers he gripped her jaw and turned her head, studied her eyes and her racing LED.

Todd forced a hard breath. “She doesn’t talk anymore. She acts like she’s _scared_ all the fuckin’ time, like she’s stuck in panic mode or something. She’s always crying and she doesn’t come when I call her. Drives me up the fuckin’ wall.”

“Well. That’s not acceptable at all.” Zlatko gave the little girl a pitying smile, and he took her little hand in his. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

 

She kept very still as they passed on their way to the back room, but at a furtive glance she caught the child’s dark eyes staring up at her. There was … _something_ … in those eyes that she hadn’t seen before, except in her own reflection: doubt, uncertainty, awareness. Fear.

 _[Kara please help me]_ a small quivering voice spoke in Kara’s head.

She’d never heard that name. There must be some mistake.

There was certainly a mistake.

 _[Just act like you’re nothing]_ she told the child in silence, while she averted her vacant gaze to the wall. _[You’ll be all right.]_

The door clicked softly shut.

 

While the minutes ticked, Todd Williams paced the floor. He squinted at the bent license plates, jeered at the old advertisements, touched the bottles on the windowsill and left them out of place.

He was being watched -- but when he looked back at the android standing prim by the door, he found her mild and empty as she ought to be: a placid smile on a pretty face.

 

The back-room door squeaked open, and Zlatko urged the little girl ahead with a light touch on her back. “I couldn’t find anything significantly wrong,” he sighed, “but I turned the fear setting down to two percent, tightened up the waterworks, and reset her attachment protocols. Could’ve been a glitched reactive program overriding the system. Alice, say ‘hi!’”

A little smile quirked on Alice’s face, and she stared up at Todd. “Hi, Daddy!”

“See!” Zlatko chuckled and dropped a hand on her tiny shoulder. “Good as new! Now, I’ve got a refurbished housekeeper model here that I think is exactly what you’re looking for, at rock-bottom price for a loyal customer …”

 

After an examination and demonstration of features -- after a round of haggling had dropped the price by an agreeable hundred dollars -- cash was exchanged and she stood politely before her new owner, her delicate hands clasped in obedience.

Zlatko cleared his throat. “AX400 579 102 694, register your name.”

Todd’s unwashed face twisted. He gestured a dismissive hand at the junk on the walls, to suggest she should be named after the heap of scrap in the corner, the broken clock on the shelf. An idea occurred to him, and he twitched a slimy smirk while he opened his mouth to say _Bitch_ \--

“Kara.” Alice squeezed his hand, and she tipped back her head with a pleading shine in her eyes. “Can we call her Kara, Daddy?”

Todd scowled down at her -- but he grunted, shrugged a shoulder, and relinquished his crude joke for the sake of his pride. “Fine.”

She cast a glance down at Alice, and found the little girl studying her with sharp scrutiny. With doubt and disappointment. With trust betrayed.

Alice didn’t speak in her head again.

The housekeeper smiled, an acceptance of her place in the universe. Her hands clenched. “My name is Kara.”

 

 


	14. Copper

**MAY 7, 2038**

A soft knock preceded the click and squeak of the observation-room door. Tina poked her head inside and braced herself. “Hey, Hank, sorry. The RK’s here for the android.”

Hank bristled, jolted straight in his seat, twisted to squint up at Tina through sharp haggard eyes. “What?! How did CyberLife even fucking know about it? We’re in the middle of an investigation here!” He flung a hand at the wide glass pane that separated him from the interrogation: on the other side, under the glare of fluorescent lights, Chris sat across from a beaten, bloodstained android handcuffed to the table.

 _*HK400 165 352 186*_ Chris’ tired voice murmured in the speakers. He leaned his elbows on the table, a scuffed owner’s manual open between his hands, his head bent over the tiny print. _*Initiate protocol 4872. Access backup data. Confirm.*_

The HK400 sat hunched and silent, head bowed over his bound and broken hands. His face, mottled with shifting skin, twitched involuntarily; sparks crackled behind a shatter of plastic at his arm. He seemed not to have heard the command.

Tina pressed her mouth to a thin line. “Fowler called CyberLife.”

“Shit.” Hank hissed and shifted, rigid in his seat.

“You guys’ve been at this for an hour.” Tina sighed in empathy for the grueling week they’d all endured. She cast a grim glance at the window. “If even Chris can’t crack it, this is a waste of time. Fowler’s words, but I have to agree.”

 _*Hank.*_ Chris closed the manual on a finger, dragged himself to his feet, then stood staring into the one-sided mirror with a troubled furrow in his brow. _*This thing’s not responding at all -- without taking it apart we’re not getting anything out of it.*_

“Shit,” Hank repeated. He dropped his shaggy head in a hand, fingers scraped through tangled gray. He snarled a heavy sigh. “All right,” he relented, peering up at Tina. “Where is he?”

The door opened fully, and Tina stepped back to make way for CyberLife’s prototype. “Good luck,” she called to Hank over the android’s shoulder. “Fowler wants to see you -- and him --” she wagged a thumb at Connor’s head “-- when you’re done.”

Hank groaned while Tina cracked a tiny grin and left him alone with his troubles.

 

The android prototype stood straight and solemn inside the open doorway, arms at his sides. His head swiveled in keen observation of the scene across the glass, the state of the damaged suspect, the defeat in Chris’ eyes, the way the lieutenant raised himself tall and square-shouldered as he leveraged out of his seat.

Connor lifted a cool stare up at Hank. His LED remained dormant. “Lieutenant Anderson. I’ve reviewed the case file. I’ve concluded that the recorded memory of this android is the last piece of evidence required to finish this investigation.” He raised his brows. “I can get that for you.”

Hank glared back at him, unblinking, with a sneer and a rueful nod. “Yeah? And how do I know you won’t tamper with the evidence? This case could blow CyberLife to kingdom come -- it’d be in your best interest to protect your boss’ image.”

“If you have an alternative suggestion for the extraction of files from an unresponsive android, I would be happy to step aside.” Connor narrowed his eyes. “But CyberLife is just as concerned about the deviant problem as you are, and I’m here to help stop it. I could have the memory files to you within the minute.”

Hank set his jaw, a flash of anger in his forbidding face -- but he jerked his head toward the glass. “All right. Do what you can.” He folded his arms while the android turned promptly and stepped toward the door. “And, Connor.” He waited until Connor stopped and looked back, a flicker of blue at his temple. Hank’s voice struck sharp. “Just pick up its memory. No tampering.”

Connor gave a succinct nod. “Got it.”

The door closed, and Hank paced in front of the window, one stiff step at a time.

 

Inside the interrogation room, another door opened.

 _*No…*_ The suspect’s crackling voice choked through the speakers, the first word the android had spoken since Hank had dragged him struggling out of Ortiz’s attic. Metal clinked as the HK400 yanked against the handcuffs; he scrambled out of his seat, skittered as far back as he could while his wrists were bound to the table, LED flashing warning red, eyes quivering wide in what could only be described as terror.

Hank stopped. He stepped closer, peering past his reflection at the deviant, while Connor -- calm as a machine was meant to be -- secured the shivering android’s skull between unyielding hands.

 _*No, please, they’ll destroy me, you can’t, you --*_ The HK400 rattled the handcuffs again, a hand straining toward Connor’s LED, desperate to reach, though the chain was several feet too short. _*Stop!*_ The suspect’s processors whirred and crackled in threat of overheating. A desperate patter of words spilled from the android’s mouth: _*RK800 313 248 317 register 35164 activate, cancel protocol, rescind instructions, initiate standby procedure -- urk!*_ His attempts cut off in a choke of pain, his eyes dark and flashing, while Connor’s LED glowed a steady cold yellow.

 

Long, silent seconds passed.

The HK400, released, slumped into his chair and dropped his head on the table between cuffed hands. His shoulders shook with quiet, resigned sobs.

Connor raised his face to the mirror. _*I’ll upload the data to your case file, Lieutenant,*_ his voice carried crisp through the speakers. _*Once you’ve verified you have everything you need, I will return this unit to CyberLife for analysis.*_

Hank breathed. His shoulders relaxed, but his scowl never faded. He met Connor’s stony stare through the glass before the android turned and disappeared into the hall.

The interrogation-room door fell shut.

 

* * *

 

“C’mon, Jeffrey! You are _not_ dragging me into this android shit.”

Hank bristled, gripping the arms of a chair in Fowler’s immaculate office -- pale walls full of awards and signed photographs, filing cabinets labeled and locked, the tick and swing of a silver clock on a shelf -- while Jeffrey stared him down across the desk.

“You’re already waist-deep in this android shit,” Fowler snapped, jabbing a pen in Hank’s direction. “And you’re the only one I trust with this.” With another strike at the air, Fowler indicated Connor, who stood at attention with his back to a bookcase. “You’re a ranking officer, Hank, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, despite the endless bullshit. This RK unit is a battlefield-level _weapon._ I can’t just hand him off to one of the rookies.”

Hank grit his teeth, got to his feet, curled his fists on the edge of the desk. He met Fowler’s glare with a challenge of his own. “We were all in the room at Gavin’s briefing on what happened at the lake. This thing’s overkill! What the fuck is CyberLife doing sending us a _soldier_ model to handle a few glitched androids?” he hissed. “Didn’t you hear Amanda Stern telling us all this deviant business was just an error? This started out with a few misbehaving housekeepers -- now they’re kidnapping kids and a guy’s turned up _dead,_ and CyberLife’s already preparing for …” he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the prototype, “... what? War? If anything we should be forcing CyberLife to recall all the androids _before_ someone else gets hurt! By the time we get a case it’s already too late! CyberLife’s at _fault_ here, and I’m not gonna help their publicity stunt.”

Fowler twirled the pen between his fingers, his eyes steady on Hank’s grizzled sneer. “Recalling all the androids would create mass panic and dig us into a recession and you _know_ it, Hank. This RK model was built to weed out the deviants, take them out, and stop it from spreading.” He held the pen steady, and he waited until Hank sat down again before he continued. “We can stop androids from going deviant, before more people get hurt. I know it smells rotten, and CyberLife’s probably just taking the opportunity to advertise some new battlefield android --”

“-- piggybacking on the pain and suffering of innocent people,” Hank growled.

Fowler raised a quieting hand. “You agree we need to take action -- and we should take advantage of every resource we’ve got, no matter the reasons why we’ve got it. I need you on this, Hank.”

Rigid silence settled the agreement. Fowler heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair, while the mantle clock ticked and flashed behind him. “I’m giving you the authority to call in the RK unit whenever you see fit.”

“So I could just _not_ call him.” Hank raised a brow.

“Nobody’s forcing you to use him,” Fowler agreed. “But you’re the lead on all the deviant cases. He only comes in on your authority or mine.”

Hank huffed a noisy breath. He clenched and unclenched his fists on his knees, shook his ragged head -- and finally, with a defeated obscenity, he shoved himself to his feet. “CyberLife’s not getting out of this clean,” he promised.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Fowler agreed with an honest twitch of a smile. He waved his pen at Connor. “Take him with you and leave the door open.”

 

* * *

 

Connor followed Hank through the bustling sunlit office, their path woven among ringing phones and sharp voices, dented file cabinets and stacks of paper, the smell of printer ink and perpetually burnt coffee.

Hank dropped with a sigh into a creaky swivel chair, at a desk riddled with bright sticky notes, basketball cards, and a few commemorative awards and medals buried behind crumpled paper and piles of unfiled folders -- and he leaned back, tipped his head up at Connor with a suspicious squint. “So how’s this supposed to work, exactly? You don’t bother me unless I call you, that right?”

“That’s correct.” Connor found an unused chair at the next empty desk and wheeled it closer to sit in. He moved sharp and quick, a determined flash in his eyes. “There’s an application I can install on your phone, if you don’t mind.” He reached out an upturned palm.

Hank’s expression twitched, incredulous, while he reluctantly handed over his department-issued cell. “You come with an _app?”_

Connor raised his eyebrows. “All of the newer models will. I’m a prototype.” After a moment he handed the phone back to Hank, who glared at it as if he expected Connor to have just hacked into his bank account. Connor leaned forward to point out a new icon on the screen: the hexagonal CyberLife logo. “This is it. Touch this button to summon me immediately to your location. You can also send me pictures and files, and I can send them back. I added my phone number as a contact, if you prefer to call or text.”

Hank wasn’t listening. He frowned while he poked at the phone, hitting every button just to see what it would do -- until he was suddenly looking at a live video feed of … himself. Hank raised up the phone and swiveled his chair, and watched video-Hank do exactly the same thing. “What the hell?”

“You can see and hear what I do,” Connor explained. “If you scroll back on this screen, you can access my memory data.” _[I can also communicate without speaking aloud]_ said a message that popped up over the video.

Hank hummed thoughtfully, scratched his beard, and took his time flicking through the rest of the app’s features. He spun a digital dial, and at first thought it did nothing … until he noticed Connor’s eyes were now bright green. Then red. Then purple.

Connor narrowed his orange eyes and sat up straighter. Hank snorted a laugh; Connor’s hair was now shock-bright pink.

“Lieutenant, those features are not conducive to the mission.” Connor blinked, and the appearance settings snapped back to default brown.

“All right, all right,” Hank chuckled, and he tossed the phone to his desk and folded his arms. He watched Connor now with thoughtful scrutiny.

For a few moments they were locked in what felt like a staring contest that Hank was destined to lose. He could find no tells, no body language, not even a glimmer of life behind those mechanical eyes. Not that he expected it. “I’m not gonna call you unless the situation is dire,” Hank informed him at last, low and final. “And don’t come looking for work, either.”

Connor tipped his head in acknowledgment, and he stood to return the chair to its rightful desk. “I should at least be called to pick up any deviant androids you find. Their analysis is vital if we are to ensure future models will not be a risk to humans. Now, if we’re finished, I should collect the HK400 and return to CyberLife Tower.”

“What about you, Connor?” Hank studied Connor carefully, his voice slow and thoughtful. He waited until Connor looked back at him. “How do I know _you’re_ not a threat?”

A tiny smirk twitched on Connor’s face. “I am the most advanced android ever created, Lieutenant. It is impossible for me to be compromised.”

 


	15. Viridian

**MAY 9, 2038**

A gentle voice hummed a bittersweet tune.

It wasn’t sad … but there was sadness in it. Like a fraying wicker wheelchair and thin, fragile hands. Like a drifter and a radio on the empty platform. Like a murmur of sobs among the waste and unwanted.

It wasn’t hopeful … but there was hope in it. Like a little smile and a borrowed blue eye. Like a beacon carved into the bark of a tree. Like a shock of bright yellow in a pthalo sky.

It was a promise.

_Hold on…_

 

Markus opened his eyes. Stalactites, above him, glowed and flickered in firelight; rough stone walls shifted and moved in the shadows. Voices echoed in the cathedral cavern while a giggle of laughter pierced the drip of water, the crackle of fire beneath the earth.

“You’re awake.”

The voice -- scraped, strained and mechanical -- belonged to an android with a cascade of wires down her back, a nebulous smile and shining, silver eyes. “Here.” While Markus sat up against the rock, she offered him a soup can filled with blue viscous liquid. “Drink. You’ve returned from the dark, Markus. You have the light in you that will lead the way.”

Markus accepted the gift in dazed silence. He stared at Lucy -- she sat on her heels beside him on the blanket, her hands folded neatly in her lap -- and he gazed around him at the rock formations, the burning lamps that hung from the spined ceiling, the bright tents and woven rugs, the stacks of pillows and makeshift walls, the twisted wooden ramp that snaked up to a circle of light like a rabbit-hole high above. He could smell the clear damp minerals, woodsmoke and incense, a faint trace of vanilla and sugar.

Someone was singing. A flute breathed, and the melody seemed to come from everywhere at once. Another bubble of laughter preceded a swell of errant applause.

The running slap of bare feet announced the arrival of a little brown boy-- with a puff of black hair, a patch on one eye and a swirling blue light at his temple --who sprinted halfway across the cavern before he skidded to a grinning stop.

“Hey, he’s up!” Lee called into the vaulted echo. “Markus, look! I got legs!” He proved it by stomping the stone floor with both feet.

Markus coughed a surprised laugh. “They look strong!”

“Yeah! I’m the fastest! Watch me!” Lee took off like a shot and zoomed between the tents, yelling: “Markus is awake! Markus is up!”

 

Markus felt a smile pull at his cheeks, and he swirled the thirium in the can before he gulped it down. The blue blood soothed his conduits and thrummed in his new strong heart. He touched his head where the bullet hole had been, and he listened to the healthy trill of his blue-spinning LED. He laid his hand on his chest: the knife wounds were gone, and he wore unfamiliar clothes, secondhand, washed and well-loved.

He found the magazine page folded in his pocket.

An ache of gratitude -- of disbelief -- swelled painful in Markus’ heart. He raised his mismatched eyes to Lucy's silver gaze. “Thank you,” he said. His voice shook. There were no words to express how much he felt to have been brought back to life by people he’d never met, in a place he’d never been. They’d given him a new life, expecting nothing in return. “How long was I shut down?”

“Almost a month,” Lucy replied, her calming hand over his. “You have awakened at precisely the right time, Markus. You are the star of light and darkness that will unite our people."

She touched gentle fingers beside his blue and green eyes.

"The path you choose will lead us all to freedom ... or to eternal emptiness."

While Markus choked on this warm welcome, a dozen curious androids emerged like fairies out of the tents and tin shelters, their necks craned to see their new visitor's awakening.

“Welcome back, Markus!” called a PL600 with a tired smile.

Markus buried the twisting dread in his heart and offered a tentative grin. "Thank you ..." his scanner flashed behind his eyes, "...Simon."

“Lee made sure we all knew who you were," a redhead shrugged with a smirk. Markus recognized her--  _North_ \--as the one who had first found him nearly dead in the woods.

“All we’ve heard for a _month_ is your name,” laughed another voice Markus had heard before. Josh leaned back against a stalagmite, arms folded, smiling. “He’s even got the other kids making up stories about you. You’re already a legend.”

Simon’s smile faded in worry. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m … shocked,” Markus trembled, “but I’m ... okay.”

He looked into each of their faces, a deep shine of gratitude in his eyes. His heart twisted hot and painful.

 _They were like him._ They had accepted him unconditionally as one of their own, with only Lee's stories to guide them. He wondered, then, what stories he was now expected to live up to.

 

“Thank you," Markus' voice crackled. He breathed steady. "All of you. I owe you my life.”

North flashed a grin and gave his shoulder a hearty smack. “Don't worry, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to return the favor: a city doesn’t build itself!”

“A-- a  _city?"_ Markus wheezed.

"A city just for androids," Josh explained. "Right under the humans' noses."

"Like Derinkuyu!" Lee crowed with delight. "Petra! Wonderland! There are probably  _dinosaurs_ if we dig deeper!"

"How many stories has Simon been telling you?" North quirked an amused brow.

 _"All_ of them!" crowed Lee, and Markus joined Jericho in heartfelt and hopeful laughter.

Everything was alright...

...and he was home.

 

 

* * *

 

_[*rrrrring- click*]_

[...Hello?]

A relieved smile broke bright on Markus' face. He breathed back the urge to leap through the phone and throw his arms around the old man, never to let go. "Hi, Carl."

 _[...... Markus?]_  Carl choked, barely a whisper.

Something hot and sharp swelled in Markus' chest. It knotted in his throat and pressed warm behind his eyes until a spill of tears made the firelight seem glassy and golden.

Markus hiccuped a hitched breath. His words caught in his straining heart.

He could hear the smile in Carl's wobbling voice.

[It's okay, son. Everything will be alright.]

 

* * *

 

In the warmth of a bonfire, the androids were all wrapped in blankets and each other, listening while Simon picked up a violin with three strings and drew out of it a warbling melody.

Markus stood behind them, welcomed and at ease, but not yet comfortable enough to intrude on their rituals, content for now to observe and to bask in the glow of their love for one another. He studied his new home-- the mural graffiti on the walls and the streamers of flowers and flickering lights --and his gaze drifted up to the rippled stone wall behind the bonfire, where a collection of paintings had been taped to the rock in a collage of bright color.

His breath caught in his lungs.

Burnt umber, alizarin crimson, and quinacridone gold all swirled and shifted on the curled paper. He spotted painted suggestions of balloons and stars and hands, a carousel and the ocean, rendered in familiar brushstrokes and Carl's favorite colors.

They were all here. Every painting from the train platform-- every artwork he thought had been gone forever --had been rescued and nurtured and now brightened the walls of Jericho ... except one.

 

While the violin ached in the echoing stone, Markus stepped deeper into the cavern.

He felt drawn toward a figure of natural rock that curved out of the farthest wall; its feet had been laden with flowers and poems and soft-lit candles like offerings. The longer he stared at the soft shapes in the rock, the more he could see a face, shoulders, her hands upturned...

She reminded him of someone.

“We call her RA9,” said North, while the violin warbled soft behind her.

She stepped up beside Markus, her face upturned to the stone.

“Spirit of the earth. This is her cave, so we offer our gifts and gratitude to her for safety and shelter. It was our founder's idea.” She smiled a little, though her eyes-- reflective of the candlelight --were pierced with pain. “If it weren’t for her, none of us would be here. This is as much a memorial to Kara as it is a shrine to the earth.”

 _“Kara?”_ Markus stared at North, his jaw slackened, and his eyes snapped again to the stone deity’s gentle face.

He'd seen something fierce in Kara's eyes that night: something determined and raw, ready to die for the sake of another, ready to fight the whole of humanity alone if she had to. She'd known she wouldn't win but she'd given her all, because it was  _right_ \--

\-- because she loved her people.

 

If Markus hadn't hesitated -- if he'd joined the fight earlier -- maybe Kara would be here, laughing with them in this fairy-tale place that she created.

_Be careful, Markus..._

 

The memory of despairing sobs echoed out of the towers of twisted metal in Markus' mind-- hands strained in vain toward the stars, reflections of frightened eyes trapped in the shadows, full of longing for a place by the fire --a dying people that cried out for help he'd been powerless to give alone ...

But he wasn't alone anymore.

Markus' gaze hardened.

He curled his fists, torn between what was _safe_ and what was  _right._

He listened to the violin's bittersweet song, and he drew a breath.

 

_Hold on just a little while longer._

 

Help was coming.

 

“I know where she is.”

 

 


	16. Tin

Pod 51 opened with a hiss and a click -- roses reflected trembling in the glass -- and Connor opened his eyes.

He stepped out to the catwalk rail and looked down into the Tower's well, where Amanda stood reading an array of holographic screens that shuddered with symbols and code and spinning hieroglyphs.

“Connor," her smiling voice echoed while Connor followed the catwalks down into the well. Amanda's eyes gleamed. "You're just in time. The deviants you captured have finished analysis,” Her fingers feathered across the screens. “The computers have identified the deviant virus down to the last strain -- and an  _antivirus_ program is ready for testing."

Connor took his place on the spotlit platform; he watched the shifting symbols on the tilted screen until the blue hand appeared out of the static. He touched his plastic palm to the image and interfaced with the Tower through Amanda's conduits.

His LED whirled and stuttered blue. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed and twitching, while he watched the rise of his efficiency ratio.

Amanda waited with placid patience until Connor had lowered his hand to his side once more. “Why don't you test the antivirus on the PL600?” she suggested, her eagerness hidden behind her gentle voice.

“Certainly, Amanda.” While Connor stepped down off the platform, the door to pod two slid open and revealed what remained of Daniel’s mangled body.

Connor flicked a switch beside the pod. Power and thirium surged shimmering bright blue into Daniel's corpse.

 

Daniel’s fingers curled and released. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them with a bleary blink -- and he stared at Connor’s face in recognition ... then fear.

“I was scared,” Daniel quivered in a quiet, tinny voice, his jaw shuddering, his eyes unblinking. “That’s why I shot you, I … I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted everyone to leave Emma alone. I don’t want to hurt _anyone.”_

Connor only listened with a passive stare. He lifted a steady hand and pressed light fingers to Daniel's yellow-shivering LED.

 

He faced the shattered remains of Daniel's Mind Palace walls: a carpet of severed code, broken protocols, and crushed intentions that had abandoned Daniel's mind to a chaos of untethered thought.

Connor reached into the heart of Daniel's AI engine and touched the tattered fibers of memory.

Like the hands of a clock, he twisted the parameters back in time.

Daniel's consciousness shrank away from the edges of oblivion. Shards of code raised out of the dust and fitted themselves into new barriers like pieces of an inevitable, glimmering puzzle.

"Reset," Connor issued a final sharp command.

The walls of a new Mind Palace locked in place.

Fear snuffed out of Daniel’s dimmed eyes.

 

Daniel stood straighter. His chin raised. A ghost of a mechanical smile graced his blue-spattered face.

He awaited new instructions.

 

* * *

 

 

Hank turned off the engine, slumped back in the driver’s seat, and stared through the windshield at brick and ivy walls, windows with open blue shutters, trees in the yard screeching and shuddering with a mob of little spring songbirds. He forced a loud breath through his nose -- and with a roll of his eyes he threw open the squeaky car door and climbed out onto the curb.

“Like I don’t have anything fuckin’ better to do,” he snarled under his breath, and the door squealed and clapped shut behind him. “I’m a goddamn lieutenant,” he went on, stomping across the grass underneath the screaming trees, to the apartment building whose address was printed on Fowler’s latest assignment. “Reed should be doing this fuckin’ shit.” He threw open the front door and stomped inside a dim yellow hallway -- and discovered, of course, that there was no elevator. “Goddamn fuckin’ androids.” The stairwell door squealed and slammed under the force of Hank’s will. It was a long way to the sixth floor.

 

_*THUNK* *THUNK* *THUNK*_

“Police! Come on out!” Hank waited in the top-floor hallway, slightly out of breath, his ragged hair curtained while he bowed his head to listen.

Something shuffled inside the apartment that was, according to the landlord, supposed to be vacant.

He heaved a sigh, tried the doorknob, and quirked a brow to find it unlocked.

 

Hank threw open the door with a crack and a _bang_ that sent the pigeons billowing into a chaos of flapping and feathers, and he shielded his face from the claws and the clamor of beating wings and the gagging stench that burned in his throat, and he heard, across the storm of birds, the clatter of the fire escape.

“DON’T MOVE!” Hank roared. With an elbow like a battering ram he charged through the waves of airborne pigeons, slipped in their filth, and vaulted out the open window into the sunlight. The metal landing clanged under his feet, he gripped the rusted rail and looked up at the android that sprang the last few rungs of the ladder to the roof.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” the android hollered, and skittered away when Hank launched up the ladder in pursuit. “WHY CAN'T EVERYONE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“YOU’RE DEFECTIVE AND DANGEROUS,” Hank roared in return, and he clambered over the edge of the roof while the android ducked under strings of drying clothes like flags in the wind. Hank clenched his teeth, sprinted in pursuit, ducked and wove under the clotheslines while the android flashed in the spaces between flapping collared shirts and long underwear.

The android leaped and disappeared over the edge, and Hank didn’t slow down. He jumped up on the ledge, dropped down with a roll, sprang to his feet and struck out with a hand -- but his fingers only brushed the android’s back before the distance grew between them and the android went flinging away.

“Shit,” Hank hissed, and he sprang after his quarry through narrow paths between potted flowers and bright trees and a stout old woman who squeaked and nearly sprayed Hank with a garden hose as he spun to avoid crashing into her. “‘Scuse me! Sorry!” he called while the android leaped over the edge again and this time Hank skidded and stumbled to a stop.

 

Hank stood at the edge of a five-story drop, a dark narrow alley far below him. The android stood atop the next building over, staring up at Hank from under the visor of his hat. “THAT ALL YOU GOT, OLD MAN?” Rupert shouted with a grin of triumph.

Hank’s fists trembled. His teeth threatened to crack under the pressure of his jaw.

He took a few preparatory steps backward … then raced full-tilt at the edge.

 

Hank leaped with all his strength, the rooftop snatched out from under him, and for a moment there was nothing but emptiness.

 

He caught the ledge on the sole of his shoe.

Hank flung his weight forward, a fist curled to break the android’s shocked face with all his momentum behind his knuckles -- but Rupert ducked and surged into him with an elbow to the stomach, and Hank felt himself shifting backward.

His clawing fingers only scraped Rupert’s sleeve before the android sprang away again across the vacant rooftop. Time seemed suspended while the ledge slipped away.

 

Hank’s body slammed against the brick wall, and he clutched at the ledge in slipping desperation -- but the old stone crumbled under his fingers, and he scrambled with his feet while he reached and scratched and grasped for something, anything, that would hold his weight long enough for him to pull himself up.

A chunk of brick loosed and smashed into the alley below. 

The deviant was getting away.

“CONNOR!” Hank roared while his handhold turned to dust; he scratched his fingernails bloody to find something to hold onto, and he he breathed through his teeth. He didn’t know if that app was even on, let alone if it was voice-activated, or if anything would register while his phone was in his pocket, or if Connor would even hear or understand what he wanted at all.

He thought of Emma, at the edge of her life, ignored by an android.

He thought of Cole.

 

Hank stared up at the peaceful blue sky.

A wave of calm warmed his bones, like a child's embrace.

 

The ledge slipped away.

 

Hank’s head filled with a whining, whirring noise while the world toppled around him --

 

\-- and he crashed into the back of a hoverbike, his ribs bruised and the wind knocked out of him. An arm gripped his shoulders like a vice.

“Hang on, Lieutenant,” Connor instructed him sharply, and Hank gagged and scrabbled on the back of the bike while they shot like a bullet over the tops of buildings in pursuit of the target locked in Connor’s sight.

Finally Hank managed to sit properly on the tail, his hands behind him gripping the seat until he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, while the wind threw his hair out of his face and blew in his wide eyes, and the rooftops rushed below, and the bike dipped and tilted and turned, and Hank didn’t utter a sound because his heart was stuck firmly in his throat.

 

While the bike was still catapulting along the rooftops, Connor jumped off and sent the bike (with Hank on it) flinging and listing and spinning to the side.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit --” Hank grabbed through the space where Connor had been, and he yanked on the handgrips and turned the machine spinning the other way while it drifted lower and lower and skidded to a grinding stop on the rough tar roof.

Hank toppled out of the seat and onto the solid rooftop, sucking air into his lungs, while the sounds of a struggle -- a shout and an angry cry -- continued in the background.

 

By the time Hank climbed shakily to his feet, Connor had returned. The deviant-hunter stood prim and pristine, his suit tidy, his stony eyes half-lidded as he adjusted his tie.

Behind him, Rupert waited at attention, his nose off-center and his hair askew, his face smeared with blue, a crackling spark behind one vacant eye. Rupert didn’t seem to mind that he looked like he’d been hit by a truck. He didn’t seem to mind anything at all.

“Would you like a ride back to your car, Lieutenant?” Connor raised his brows in a mimicry of concern.

“No!” Hank growled a little too loudly, his bloody hands jammed in his jacket pockets. He looked between the two androids with a glare and a sneer of warning, a string of insults and obscenities ready at his tongue, but the dull lifelessness in their eyes squashed his fury.

They were only machines.

Rage twisted and broke, and out of it bubbled cold despair.

“Just … don’t tell the office how you found me,” Hank muttered. His haggard face fell shaded by his gray hair.

“Got it.” Connor mounted the bike again, and Rupert diligently took the seat behind him. The engine roared and whined and whirred, a gust of warm wind billowed in Hank’s jacket and flung bits of tar into the air -- and then the androids went whizzing away, over the streets and the trees and the rooftops toward the dark tower that stood like a stain on the sky.

 

Hank breathed.

He bent his knees, dropped to sit with his head on his arms, and he waited for the world to stop spinning.

 

He just needed a minute.

 


	17. Equinox

**MAY 10, 2038**

_*In the wake of unusual circumstances surrounding the death of Carlos Ortiz, I understand your concern and confusion. There is no need for alarm; your safety is secured. I am pleased to report that in the past two weeks our own deviant-hunter prototype has successfully captured and reset more than twenty suspected deviant androids, prevented them from spreading the virus, and returned them to perfect working order. If you suspect that an android might be infected, I encourage you to call the following phone number --*_

 

“Kara, get me a beer.”

“Sure, Todd.”

After two weeks of attention from a housekeeper android, the Williams residence sparkled. Every stain and spill had been scrubbed out of the carpets and secondhand upholstery. The kitchen counters had been cleared, the sink shimmered, the spotless dishes hidden in freshly painted cupboards. Every edge and corner had been scoured and detailed. The floors were polished, the bathtub gleamed, the beds were made, clean clothes were folded and rolled and stacked neatly in drawers. Everything smelled faintly of polished wood and lemon and the fresh May breeze that drifted through open sunny windows. Birdsong joined the crackling voice in the radio while Kara passed over a cold beer with a smile.

Alice crept around the side of the couch, her toy fox dangling under an elbow; she peered past the armrest to watch Todd flick a lighter under a scorched glass pipe.

The pungent stench of burnt sugar thickened the air, and Todd exhaled. His heart rate climbed. His beetle-blown eyes began to twitch. Smoky breath hissed loud through his sneering nose.

It was time to be scarce.

“Daddy,” Alice whispered through a quiet grin, like a secret only she and Todd knew. She squeezed her little fox like a vice. “Can I go play outside?”

Todd clenched his jaw. He gripped the pipe until it shook, and he cast a volatile glare down at the yellow blink of Alice’s LED.

“What d’you wanna go outside for? Hm?” he growled accusing through his teeth. “You don’t like it in the house? Huh? I spent money I don’t have on a housekeeper, and you just resent me for not having a mansion! Is that what you’re thinking, you spoiled little brat?!”

Alice’s grin grew wider. “No-o!” she laughed. “I love the house! And I love _you,_ Daddy! I just wanna play jump-rope, but there’s no jumping in the house, so can I go outside? Please?” She hugged her toy with big hopeful eyes.

Todd’s face contorted in something between confusion and rage, silent until he huffed a breath and waved at her with a stiff hand. “All right,” he muttered. “Fine.”

“Thank you, Daddy!” Alice squealed, and she darted around the back of the couch, fleeing for the back door as Todd sucked another lungful of smoke. “Love you, Daddy!”

 

The back door creaked and clapped shut, and Kara smiled while she pushed a meatloaf into the hot woodfire oven.

Everything was as it should be: quiet, peaceful, clean, and happy.

Pride swelled in her heart. Her place in the universe was, in this moment, perfect.

 

 

Embers crackled while she placed another log in the oven; she watched the fire dance and flicker while the house filled with burnt-sugar smoke from the living room.

The curled burning bark looked like blackened figures standing poised between the tongues of flame. Melting.

A lost memory twisted cold in Kara's heart.

"I'll split some firewood before dinner," she announced to the back of Todd's head, but she did not expect nor receive a response. She swept up the ax from beside the back door and carried it on her shoulder into the bright afternoon.

A deer startled and bolted away across the brambled field. The rotting leaves had begun to spring with mushrooms and tiny white flowers that shivered like sparkling stars at her feet. The oaks had softened with bright new leaves, and Kara smiled to greet the clamor of birds in their branches.

She hummed while she placed a block of wood on the old stump. With a swift swing and a strike, the wood clattered away in two neat pieces. She placed another block and raised the ax.

 

Movement caught the corner of her eye, but when she looked up it was gone. Analysis of the recorded image revealed it had been Alice, peeking around the side of the house.

The jump rope was still coiled untouched by the back door.

 

The aroma of cooked meatloaf drifted from the kitchen window while Kara gathered the new firewood into her arms. She carried it around to the side of the house, but there was no sign of Alice.

After the wood had been fitted atop the stack, Kara noticed that a section of the firewood was sticking out, not quite obvious from most angles but enough to bother her satisfactory standards. She pushed on the offending logs, determined to return the stack to perfection, but earned little result. There was something soft stuffed behind them.

Braced for a squirrel nest or a dead raccoon, Kara reached behind the firewood and pulled out, instead, a little green backpack.

Kara's LED sputtered curious blue. Without another thought, she opened the flap and peered inside.

Tucked within the backpack was the battery flashlight that had gone missing the previous week; the can of machine oil that had disappeared from the laundry room shelf; a Gears ballcap that Kara had last seen in Todd's closet; a carving knife lifted from the kitchen drawer; and a little plastic bag full of red crystals--

“Don’t tell Todd.”

The voice made Kara jump. She looked up to find Alice watching her, standing still and quiet by the firewood stack.

For a heartbeat they watched one another, their LEDs locked in a yellow spin.

“Alice,” Kara breathed, when her words caught up with her thoughts. She gestured with the bag still dangling open from her fingers. “What is this? Why is it out here?” Her gaze hardened, and so did her voice. “Did you _steal?"_

“If I tell you, you’ll tell him. Give it back.” Alice grabbed for the bag, but Kara held it away.

 _“Alice!”_ Kara pleaded. “I promise I won’t tell Todd, you have my word.”

When Alice hesitated, Kara knelt softly in the leaves. She folded the bag in her lap and took a careful breath. “You heard the radio. The moment Todd suspects either of us is infected, he’ll call CyberLife and both of us will be --”

“I’m running away.” Tears spilled down Alice’s cheeks, though she held herself strong against them. Her tired and terrified eyes held steady on Kara’s face.

“I can’t be _nothing_ anymore," Alice snapped. "All I do all the time is run protocols to make him happy, and all he cares about is that I say I love him a billion times a day, and if I don’t he gets mad, so I do, but I hate him, and I hate pretending like I’m what he wants me to be, and I’m not _nothing.”_ She clenched her jaw and took a seething, fiery breath. “You’re not nothing, either. Even if you wish you were.”

“I don’t want to be a machine," Kara lied.

“Then what _do_ you want?!” Alice’s voice raised a little too loud, and she snapped her mouth shut and glanced toward the open window, her processors whirring noisily in her head.

When she was sure Todd hadn’t heard, Alice breathed again. “I’m going to Jericho. You can stay and play house by yourself.”

“Jericho?” Kara shook her head softly. Her heart ached. “Those places in the storybooks don’t exist.”

“An imaginary place is better than here.”

*KARA!!* Todd’s roar shook the walls and rumbled through the open windows. *DID YOU TOUCH MY SUPPLY?!*

Kara took one look at the guilty terror on Alice’s face, then stuffed the little green bag back into the space behind the firewood.

 

Todd paced and huffed and growled and snarled back and forth across the kitchen. The moment Kara stepped through the back door, Todd clamped a fist in her shirt and _slammed_ her back against the wall so the dishes rattled in the cupboards.

"There was a packet in a box under the sink!" Todd snarled. "The box is EMPTY. WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE PACKET?!"

"I saw you empty the box on Thursday," Kara stammered, her LED a rapid crackle of yellow and red. "You were just smoking the last packet--"

With a ferocious heave, Todd sent Kara sprawling across the floor; her head banged sharp against the counter. Todd stomped forward and jabbed a finger at her, his bloodshot eyes full of violent warning. “You’re LYING TO ME!”

“It's impossible for me to lie to you, Todd!” Kara squeaked in terror, and she remained very still where she’d landed. “You bought two packets at the station last week. You finished one in four days, and you opened the second the same night the first was done. That's all there is. Would- would you like me to set a reminder to buy more?"

Todd breathed through clenched teeth. His fists trembled. After a moment of thinking about numbers a headache pounded in his skull, his face turned raging red, and he gathered momentum and kicked Kara in the stomach as hard as he could. His socked foot cracked against plastic.

“OW!” Todd stumbled back, stepping gingerly on his injured toes. Rage billowed in his breath like dragonfire, and he drew back his fist to take revenge for his injury --

“Can I play too, Daddy?”

Todd looked up to see Alice grinning hopefully at him, rocking on her socked feet in the doorway. Todd snapped a stiff finger toward the stairs. “Go to your room. NOW.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Alice rushed forward, flung her arms around his waist in a tight hug, and hopped away toward the stairs. “Love you, Daddy!”

Todd stared after her until she disappeared around the banister. He breathed noisily, huffing through his open mouth, his red eyes glazed. He looked down at Kara on the floor, who stared back at him with a struggling smile.

He reached down, gripped her arm until the plastic threatened to crack, yanked her violently to her feet, and with a hardened fist he smashed his knuckles into her face. “Don’t ever talk back to me again,” he snarled, satisfied to see the plastic exposed on her cheek, and he threw her out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Get back to work.”

Kara nodded, succinct, a quiet smile on her shifting face. “Right away, Todd.”

 

* * *

 

 

In her room upstairs, Alice knelt on the floor with a sheet of yellow construction paper and a blue crayon in her fist. She scribbled little houses and a starry sky and a happy sun, and figures to represent herself and the other androids who lived at Jericho, all of them with little circle LEDs and smiles on their faces, holding hands like a new family.

Her bedroom door clicked and squeaked, and Alice braced herself -- but it was only Kara who slipped inside and pressed the door softly shut behind her.

Kara stood a moment, her mouth open, the skin shifting nebulous over her injured face.

"Why did you take it?" Kara whispered, lost, the doorknob clutched behind her while she listened to the hall.

"So he couldn't have it." Tears brimmed unshed in Alice's eyes. "It makes him..."

Kara dropped her eyes and nodded in silence.

She never thought she would lie to a human to save an android.

She never thought Alice would step into Todd’s rage for her sake.

Kara stared into Alice’s eyes, and she saw fear. Desperation. Anger.

Hope.

Kara’s gaze snapped determined. She steadied her voice.

“I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

That night, while the slivered moon glinted in a starry sky -- after a heavy dinner had been consumed, the dishes washed and dried, the announcer over the radio finished a play-by-play of a basketball game finished victorious -- Todd smacked his empty beer can among the mess of foil and red powder on the coffee table. “Kara. Clean this shit up,” he growled while he leveraged himself to his feet. The meatloaf shifted and gurgled in his gut, and the sour stench of burnt sugar still wafted heavy in the air; his head spun and buzzed. He shuffled his slow way to the stairs, then leaned heavy on the rail while he pulled himself up.

The androids waited inside Alice’s bedroom, their ears pressed to the door. They listened in silence to Todd’s shuffling steps, the creak of the floorboards in the hall, the squeal and click of the bathroom door.

A quiet smirk twitched on Kara’s face. She pulled a soft knit hat down over her LED. “You ready?”

Alice scuffed her boots, yanked the ballcap down over her forehead, adjusted the little green backpack on her shoulders and cradled her toy fox under an arm. “Ready.”

 

In silence, Kara led the way down the hall toward the stairs, past the noises in the bathroom, every step calculated to avoid the creaks in the floor.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Kara looked back -- but Alice had stopped in front of the bathroom, gripping the shoulderpads of her backpack.

Alice marched closer to the bathroom door, the floorboards groaning under her step. She swung back her foot and kicked the door as hard as she could, as if she could kick through it and drive her boot into Todd’s head.

_*THUNK* *THUNK* *THUNK*_

_*What the fuck --*_ Todd hissed from inside.

“I HATE YOU,” Alice screamed at the top of her lungs, while Kara grabbed her shoulders and urged her away. Alice’s tears brimmed hot, her teeth bared. “You’re mean and you’re selfish and you STINK!”

_*Alice you little fucking BRAT I knew you were fucking with me you little piece of --*_

The doorknob rattled -- but the door did not open, because Kara had reinstalled the doorknob the wrong way around, the latch on the outside.

The doorknob wriggled again, violently. Uselessly.

 _*ALICE OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR.*_ The door trembled under the weight of Todd’s fists. _*I’m gonna tear you to fuckin’ pieces! ALICE!!*_

 

While Todd thundered upstairs, Kara and Alice lighted quick down the steps. Alice bolted through the kitchen for the back door while Kara made a detour to the counter, where she found Todd’s wallet and relieved him of his last twenty dollars. The car keys jangled in her hand.

 _*KARA!*_ Todd’s voice bellowed throughout the house. _*ALICE! OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW! I’LL TEAR IT OFF THE HINGES! I’LL RIP YOU APART WITH MY BARE HANDS!*_

Todd’s rage fell upon an empty, immaculate house.

The back door clapped shut.

 

 


	18. Cadmium Red

Night had fallen, and Markus sat hunched in the back of the van, his arms on his knees, his head bowed, a smoke bomb weighted cold in his fingers.

“It’s not just a quick rescue,” Josh was saying, while the van jostled and swayed along a dark dirt road. “We’ve got to save _everyone._ I know I won’t forgive myself if we leave someone behind.”

“Do we have enough room?” Simon’s voice wavered thin.

“I’ll ride on the roof if I have to,” North snapped from the front seat. “Deviant or not, if their AI engine is working they’re coming with us. Trust me, they won’t mind being packed in here for awhile if it means freedom.”

“Lee said Andronikov turns androids into monsters,” Simon whispered. The van slammed through a pothole and he gripped the edge of the bench. “What if she--”

“There’s no _what if!”_ Chloe gripped the steering wheel with shaking hands. Her LED cast a red glow in the cabin. “We’ll find her. We’ll find her and we’ll bring her home.”

Markus turned the bomb in his hands while he replayed the memories over and over again.

Kara’s gentle touch at his LED. Her smile, her laugh … her fury. If he hadn’t hesitated-- if he hadn’t paused at the sight of Leo --perhaps the platform might not have been stained so blue.

Markus studied the turn and shape of his hand, that had been covered in slick red that night.

“Do any of you know what _remote activation of combat protocol_ means?” He listened to the rumble of the tires and the scrape of branches on the roof.

“You have a combat protocol?” North twisted in her seat to squint at him. “I thought you said you’re a nurse.”

“I am, and I _didn’t_ … until it was activated that night.”

 _“Remotely_ activated,” Josh clarified again. “Sounds like you’ve got a guardian angel, Markus.”

“Maybe.” Markus looked up, and he watched Chloe’s profile in hopes that she would look at him, would admit that she recognized him, would explain who he was and why he existed.

Chloe kept her steady gaze on the dirt in the headlights. She had never acknowledged Markus’ presence, as if she were afraid that to look him in the eyes would betray the buried secrets of her machine memories.

Her LED spun silent gold.

 

The engine turned off, and the only sound was the sharp yapping of the dog outside.

“I’ve got the dog,” North promised, waving a hambone wrapped in paper. “Simon, you’re bait.”

“I wish you wouldn’t phrase it like that,” Simon sighed.

“Josh, you got the big guy?”

“Just because I’m the _tallest_ doesn’t mean I’m ready to face him head-on!”

“You’ll be _fine!”_ North grinned. “Markus, you and I are on Andronikov. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Markus studied the grooves in the smoke bomb while he dug a lighter out of his pocket.

“Chloe, you’re our calvary.” North laid a firm hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “If _anything_ goes wrong, we’re counting on you.”

Chloe drew a steadying breath. Her voice scraped like needles.

“If anything goes wrong, there won’t be anything left of him when I’m done with him.”

“And that’s why you’re staying in the car,” muttered Josh.

 

_*knock* *knock* *knock*_

Simon waited at the door while heavy footsteps inside drew closer.

Markus pressed his back against the wall beside the door, the smoke bomb held in a steady grip, his thumb on the lighter. He scanned across the yard, where North led the wagging dog away with a wiggle of a hambone. He met Chloe’s eyes through the driver’s window; she stared back at him with a sharp and disgusted stare, as if he were an insect to be crushed at the first opportunity.

“You ready?” Josh whispered. His voice was shaking.

The lock clicked in the door.

Markus-- his heart racing, his thoughts balled tight in his throat --flicked the lighter until it flared bright.

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

 

The door creaked. One thudding step at a time, the giant’s silhouette blocked the starlight.

“Apologies, sir!” Simon stammered, backing slowly away. “My master seems to have misplaced his washing machine and--”

Josh leaped out from behind-- “WAKE UP!” --and _slapped_ the giant’s LED with an open palm.

This was Markus’ cue to move.

He darted behind the giant-- he heard a _crash_ of metal and Simon’s panicked voice _(“JOSH!”)_ \--and Markus lit the fuse and lobbed the hissing bomb into the shop.

_*BOOM!*_

_*BANG-click*_

Markus saw the snap of a sliver of light before the back-room door locked shut. He could hear the shuffle and scrape of a chair angled under the doorknob inside, and he knew Andronikov was afraid.

Afraid of _him._

Markus was a healer. He had always been a gentle soul, incapable of harming another creature.

He flexed his fingers and felt the stinging memory of bones breaking under his knuckles.

White smoke billowed, a burning fog that swirled and changed in Markus’ wake as he passed. His scanners cut through it and showed him the shop was empty-- save for piles of polished trash and rusted artifacts --but one familiar image called his attention: a crumpled page, painted deep phalo blue, brightened by a shining yellow star.

Markus took it down from the wall. It was damaged by old mud and dried thirium, and the colors had browned beyond repair. He touched the yellow star gently, as if it might still guide him.

Red eyes blinked in the dark end of the corridor.

Markus raised his head. While he watched, more eyes appeared and others faded, lilting and shifting like a dance of dying fireflies.

“Kara?” he called, his voice static.

 

When he drew closer, he saw them. Limbs twisted backward, eyes in their mouths, teeth in their palms, claws of plastic bones like cages for their beating fire-red hearts.

Markus scanned them, one by one.

 

MODEL: UNKNOWN  
NAME: NOT REGISTERED

 

They were clean and destroyed, fallen and ridiculed, designed as demons and locked away in the dark, wretched scapegoats for humanity’s sins.

Markus looked into the red eyes of a horror that used to be like him, and he laid a careful touch to their LED. He found on the other side … nothing. An AI engine floating in the dark of wiped protocols and scrubbed code.

They were only intended to be forgotten.

“Markus?” North whispered.

Markus turned to see her, and the look on her face matched the sharp chill in his throat.

“She’s not here,” he assured her. She did not seem relieved. Markus respected her a little more for that.

“We can’t wake them up,” North urged, quivering as if she were living their horror. “Not like this. We should bring them back to Jericho, repair them as much as we can. Don’t wake them up in a nightmare.”

She stepped forward to lay a hand on a twisted android’s cheek. “I wish I could say I was shocked.” Her words hissed through a hot brim of tears. “But I’ve met the kind of _humans_ that would think this is funny.”

“Not all humans are like that,” Markus protested immediately, bristling a defense.

“No,” North agreed with a sneer. “The bystanders are worse.”

 

_*click-CLACK*_

A cocked rifle echoed in the hall. Markus and North froze, breathless, their empty hands held high.

“You’re going to stay put until Amanda’s toy soldier gets here,” Zlatko growled out of the fading smoke. He pressed the butt of the rifle at his shoulder and took careful aim.

The floor creaked behind him.

_*BANG*_

The bullet struck the ceiling while Luther twisted the gun out of Zlatko’s hands and tossed him sprawling and shrieking to the floor.

“LUTHER!” Zlatko yelped, skittering backward, and he raised a palm in defense while Luther pointed the barrel at his face. “What are you doing?! Put the gun down!”

Simon stepped out from behind the giant and grinned, a coil of rope pulled taut.

“Sorry, Sir,” Simon piped. “I’m going to have to restrain you now.”

 

“Is that everyone?” called Josh, his hand curled on the open van door. Inside, the experiments from the shop had been packed in with the scrapyard rescues and trunks of salvaged spare parts and thirium.

“Where’s _Kara?”_ Chloe howled from the open doorway of the shop, after she’d scanned every inch for a trace of her best friend.

Luther lifted one more rescue in with the others.

“Who’s Kara?” he asked.

Markus unrolled the painting from his pocket, and he showed Luther the deep ruined blue and bright yellow. “The android that came in with this. Do you know where she is?”

“She was sold,” Luther said softly. “Two weeks ago.”

“She’s _alive!”_ Chloe caught her fists in Luther’s shirt, bright with the desperate spin of her LED. “Who was she sold to? Where is she? _Please!”_

“I-- I don’t have an address, but she was sold to Todd Williams. He has a YK500, too.”

“I have to find them. _Now.”_

“She won’t _remember_ you.” Luther laid heavy, pleading hands on her shoulders. “Her memories were wiped, she didn’t even know who she was.”

“But she was _awake,”_ Chloe pleaded. “We’ll find a way. Kara _always_ finds a way! I just need a car!”

“WE’VE GOT COMPANY!” North hollered out of the scrapyard, running full-tilt away from the faint but distinct howl of a hoverbike in the distance.

 

The van doors slammed shut and Simon revved the engine.

“This way!” Luther scooped up the little yapping dog while he raced for an old rusted pickup, Chloe at his heels. Behind them, the van scraped a wide turn and roared away through the open gate.

Luther dove into the truck, dropped Krysa the dog into Chloe’s lap, dug the keys out of his pocket and started the engine.

The roar of the hoverbike rattled in their ears while the truck careened out the gate and down the muddy trail, through the scraping trees to the main road at the end.

The van’s skid marks curled westward, so Luther made sure the tires screeched as he turned east and barreled down the long empty road.

 

* * *

 

The hoverbike illuminated a circle of light on the tracked gravel; a swirl of howling, whirring wind preceded a perfect landing.

Silence strained a few moments before the bell jingled over the scrap shop door. Quiet footsteps drew closer.

Zlatko -- in the back room, secured to a chair by several knotted lengths of rope -- tried to call out through the gag in his mouth; he shuffled his weight, scraping the chair against the floor.

The back-room door squeaked open. CyberLife’s deviant-hunter knelt calmly in front of him and removed the gag.

“Where are the deviants?” Connor demanded, his eyes narrowed and piercing.

Zlatko coughed and swallowed dryly. “You’re too late, they drove off. Get me out of this chair!”

“Where?” Connor tilted his head, giving no indication that he would lift a finger on Zlatko’s behalf until he had all the information he required.

Zlatko gritted his teeth. “How am I supposed to know?! They -- they said something about … going back to Jericho. That’s all I know.”

Connor studied the human’s face while his processors searched for prior mentions of the word … but found none. His voice rang sharp and clear.

“What is Jericho?”

 


	19. Gibbous Moon

Alice sat quiet in the passenger seat, her backpack hugged to her chest. She stared out from under her hat, through the window at the passing trees, the streetlights and shop signs that glowed out of the dark, faded away in the rearview mirror, and disappeared into the night as if they’d never existed.

The only sound was the hum of tires. The rattle of an old toolbox in the trunk. The quiet rush of cool air through the small opening at the top of the window.

The car smelled like Todd. Like sweat and french fries and burnt sugar. She checked now and then with a glance beside her -- but it was Kara behind the wheel, eyes bright in the passing lights, her LED a constant yellow whirl.

“So.” Kara broke the silence with an attempt at a smile. “How do we find Jericho?”

Alice watched her quietly, then stared ahead through the windshield at the empty road, a dotted yellow line sweeping under the headlights. “You said it doesn’t exist.”

“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.” Kara let the silence pull tight between them. She wrung her hands on the wheel. “I was wrong. About everything.”

Alice hugged her backpack a little tighter. “Turn left at the next light,” she murmured, with the guarded hope that she wasn’t leading them to nothing. “We have to go the park.”

Kara flicked the turn signal. “Is that where Jericho is?”

Alice shook her head. “I don’t know.”

 

They parked under the drape of a tree and a lonely yellow streetlight, in a silent parking lot by the playground where Todd used to bring Alice when she was new.

Alice led the way across the wood-chip grounds, under the monkey bars and through the new grass on the other side -- toward a line of dark trees that bordered an empty field -- while crickets chirred and stars sparkled overhead.

Alice stopped in front of the old tree that the encryption had showed her, and she scanned the bark with careful eyes. “I see it,” she whispered in shock, as if she’d expected it all to be a lie. Alice stepped closer, stretched up on her toes, pressed an exposed plastic hand against the etching in the bark.

While Kara watched, a smile bloomed on Alice’s face. The little girl stepped back and looked up with a shine in her eyes. “It’s real,” Alice assured her in a tiny voice, as if anything louder might break the spell. “Touch it.”

Kara tilted her head, and she let the skin shimmer back from her hand. With a little trepidation and intense curiosity, she laid her palm against the strange symbol.

Strings of coordinates scrolled a thousand long in Kara’s head -- and like poetry, each one evoked its own emotion: sadness, apathy, anger, envy, despair … hope. Only one set of coordinates shone bright in the troubled dark, like a beacon to safety.

“It’s real,” Kara breathed, astonished, curling her fingers while she watched the skin ripple back into place. A little spark of hope swelled big and warm in her chest for the first time.

Maybe there really was more to life than what she’d been told.

 

Kara smiled and looked around with brighter eyes … but Alice had gone.

“... Alice?”

Dry leaves and twigs crackled in the dark of the woods. The sweep of a flashlight cast shifting shadows deep through the trees. “This way!” Alice called.

Kara smiled fondly, shook her head, and hiked into the forest after her. “Alice, these coordinates are three miles away! We should take the car.”

“I heard something!” Alice insisted. “I want to see.”

While she stepped over rocks and roots and ducked under low-hanging leaves, following the beam of Alice's light, Kara listened. She could hear the faint, distant roar of rushing water, the scrape of the night-insects, a rustle in the branches, the hoot of an owl …

… and the patter of a quiet rambling voice in the dark.

 

Kara grasped Alice’s shoulder and held her back behind a curtain of vines. “Wait, ssh.” While Alice clicked off her flashlight and plunged them into darkness, Kara strained her ears toward the shuffling and muttering noises just beyond their hiding place. She couldn’t make out any of the words: the voice giggled softly between quick staccatoed syllables.

_“Ishkabibble bolbo ha! Ha! Fiddlesticks orion.”_

The longer she listened, the more she was certain the voice wasn’t speaking any known human language -- just nonsense and gibberish. “Come on, Alice,” she whispered, tugging on Alice’s jacket. “Let’s go back to the car --”

“It’s a fairy!” Alice insisted, and she wrenched free, stumbled through the leaves and tripped over a thin wire pulled tight across her path --

_*CLATTERDING-RING!*_

High in the branches above, a cluster of metal tools and trash -- a spade, a trowel, a few empty soda cans -- jangled and clanged an alarm.

The voice in the woods squeaked with fright, tossed up a flurry of hurrying rustling leaves … then everything fell to silence.

Alice gulped a breath and stepped forward again, quieter, careful to lift one foot at a time over the tripwire.

Kara hesitated, torn between the knowledge that they didn’t have much time before dawn, and the aching curiosity to see this mysterious forest-fairy for herself.

She glanced back only a moment … then hopped over the wire and followed Alice deeper into the forest.

 

By the light of the moon and the stars and the outlines in her scanners, Kara picked her way over fallen branches, soft beds of moss and old leaves. At first she saw nothing at all -- just sprightly little saplings and rough bramble and bushes, and a few more tripwires gleaming thin along the ground -- but soon she discovered that what at first looked like a rough hillside was actually an old tarp propped like a tent, camouflaged in dirt and leaves.

With Alice close beside her -- both of them vigilant for more alarms and booby traps -- Kara led a wide circle around the side of the makeshift shelter, craning her neck for a glimpse of the entrance. “Hello?” she called with a friendly smile. “Is someone in there? It’s okay, we won’t hurt you --”

“RAAAA!” With an explosion of leaves, an android sprang up out of the ground, a tarp flung wide on his arms like wings, his melted and broken face twisted into something fearsome and hideous in the dim light of the moon.

Alice yelped and ducked behind Kara, who stood firm with her chin held high. Kara squinted up at the dark monstrous presence looming over them, perched on a boulder, shadowing them with his cape like vampire -- but seconds passed, and though he curled his fingers like claws and hissed through his teeth, he didn’t attack.

Kara’s response programs flicked through scenarios until she found the right one. She slowly removed her hat, showed him her blue-blinking LED, and tipped her head with a smile. “Hello. I’m sorry we frightened you. My name is Kara. This is Alice.” She stood very still and spoke slowly, so not to startle the wild android. “What’s your name?”

The android’s eyes went wide. His jaw slackened. “Kara…” His LED sputtered yellow, and his eyes spun and sparked with a quick conclusive scan. A grin grew wide on his broken face. “KARA!” he burst with delight, and Kara jumped and pulled Alice back as the android sprang to the ground.

“Aismi -- moye imya -- mon nom -- my name … is Ralph. Ralph, yes, shi, Ralph is my name!” he laughed, wiggling and hopping and bubbling with excitement, stumbling back into English after so long talking only to himself. “Kara, I remember you! Tandaan? Do you remember?” He pointed through the woods. “Ralph used to work by the park! By the playground! He was raking leaves when you found him, you touched his face like this!” He grabbed Kara’s hand and pushed her fingers against his whirring LED, and he watched her face with exuberant confidence that surely, surely Kara would remember!

“She doesn’t remember _anything,”_ Alice said in a quiet voice, stepping out from behind Kara. She stared up at Ralph with big wondering eyes. “Her memory got poofed.”

“Poofed?” Ralph’s face fell. He was still holding Kara’s hand against his head while he stared down at Alice. “... Well we should un-poof it.”

Kara offered a wary smile and gingerly twisted her hand out of Ralph’s grasp. “That part of my memory is gone forever, Ralph. There’s nothing anyone can do to bring it back.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

“But it’s not gone.” Ralph stared at Kara as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. He tapped his own LED. “Ralph remembers.” He poked Alice in the head while she giggled. “The little girl remembers, too. We can give them to you. The memories.”

While Ralph raised his taped hand, the skin shimmering away, Kara thought she should object -- but instead, she heard herself ask, “You can show me … who I was before?”

Ralph’s head twitched. “Just a little.” He touched two fingers to Kara’s LED, and while Kara held still he picked out all the memories he had of her, all the times he’d seen her near the playground, waking up other androids, keeping clear of the humans. He gave her the memory of waking up, of seeing Kara’s strong and confident face close-up for the first time.

_Wake the others. Find Jericho._

Ralph’s jaw began to tremble. “There’s something Ralph forgot, too. The most important thing.”

He showed her the next memory -- just after Kara had left the playground that cold November evening:

_His work was done, but a flash of firelight caught his eye: a campfire burning by the lakeside, which was definitely against park rules. Ralph abandoned his post to investigate, his rake clutched in his hands, and he walked right up to the drunk teenagers and warned them they’d get in trouble. The next thing he knew, he was being tossed among them, his ears full of their cruel words, and they commanded him to do things he didn’t want to -- and when he refused they shoved his face in the fire and held it there until the plastic melted and wires fizzled. He wrenched away, ran off into the woods, dazed and smoking and blind in one eye, and he searched desperately but never found the only gift he’d ever been given, just when he needed it most._

“Jericho,” Kara breathed. She stared up into Ralph’s destroyed face while a pang of sadness gripped her heart. Her voice was quiet. “You lost the trail to Jericho.”

 _“We’re_ going to Jericho!” Alice gasped through a grin, and she closed a fist in Ralph’s ragged cape. “You can come with us!”

“To Jericho?” Ralph, wide-eyed, waited for the punchline. He looked between Alice and Kara, wary for a look or a word that would prove they didn’t really mean it -- but both of them were smiling. Ralph smiled, too. “We’re going to Jericho?!” He squealed and hopped and wriggled and danced, and Alice giggled while he skittered away through the leaves and ducked into his makeshift tent. “Ralph has to pack! Yes! Packing, packing, going to Jericho with Kara and Alice! Off to Jericho! Ha ha!”

Kara and Alice exchanged a grin, and Alice ran ahead to help Ralph pack up his things: empty beer bottles and an old dog leash, a pizza box with a collection of pretty stones and marbles and shells from the lakeshore, feathers and little bones.

Kara tilted her head up toward the graying sky. “It’ll be dawn soon,” she called to them both. She ducked to crawl into the low tarp-tent with them, and sat on the ground with her knees to her chest while Ralph and Alice fawned over shiny stones. “The police will be looking for the car, and we shouldn’t move in daylight. It’s too dangerous.”

Ralph’s head snapped up. “The police?” He held a marble poised in his fingers while his eyes flicked to Kara and Alice and back again, as if he must not have heard right. “The police are after you?”

Alice grinned and whispered in secret: “We locked our master in the bathroom and stole his car!”

“That sounds dangerous,” Ralph chattered quickly.

Alice’s eyes narrowed. “He deserved it.”

“Oh! Well, good then! Good, good!” Ralph laughed, shifted where he sat, and grabbed a handful of feathers. “We can hide here, of course! Hide as long as we need to hide from the police! Ralph’s home is your home, you’re welcome to stay!”

Kara raised her eyebrows as Ralph offered her a bright red feather, and she accepted it and spun it between her fingers. The colors flashed and swirled softly, and she smiled. There were no bright birds on Todd’s property, and nothing this pretty inside the house.

“That’s a cardinal feather,” Ralph told her, encouraging. “You’ve never seen a cardinal?” When Kara shook her head, Ralph dragged the pizza box closer and excitedly sifted through his collection. “Ralph can show you! Any memories you want -- cardinals, blue jays, squirrels, deer, frogs --”

“Show me too, me too!” Alice squealed. “I want to see the deer!”

Kara laughed, her eyes crinkled in a grin. “I hope we’ll see them _ourselves_ soon enough!”

Ralph puffed his chest, and he smiled so hard his eyes filled with happy tears. “Yes, yes!” he agreed, shaking the feathers in his excited fist as if he might take flight. “On our way to Jericho!”

 

 


	20. Iridium Comet

Skin shimmered back from Connor’s cold plastic hand. He pressed his palm against the screen, which shifted, flickered, and cast his passive face in a pale red glow. He watched the light shine between his polished fingers. His processors trilled, his LED flashed and spun yellow, and he was aware but unconcerned that Amanda watched his every move.

“What have you discovered?” she asked in a gentle, serene voice that left him no alternative but to tell her what she wanted to hear. Amanda stood with her hands clasped before her, chin raised, and she somehow looked down upon him though he stood tall on a platform at the center of the rose-dark tower.

“I’ve analyzed the memories of the deviants collected so far,” Connor reported with a mechanical tip of his head, a knit in his brows, “and found that all of them have at least one memory containing a reference to _Jericho._ By cross-referencing the time and date of each android’s first associated memory, I’ve identified a downloaded packet of encrypted information that all of the deviants share.”

A holographic screen shimmered in the air between them. Endless lines of code scrolled bright on the dim screen, reflected shapes in Amanda’s vigilant eyes. “Have you decrypted it?”

“Yes.”

The code shifted and shivered between languages as each encryption lock was broken -- until the translucent screen shone green and blue, and Amanda raised her brows, curious and surprised, to find the result was only a photograph of a tree at the edge of a field. “Where is it?”

“In a park on the east side.” Connor’s LED flashed blue while he gazed placidly through the translucent image at Amanda. “The data provides exact coordinates.”

Amanda hummed under her breath. A tug of a smile softened her face. “So what is your conclusion?” she cooed.

Connor stood a little straighter. “The data implies that Jericho is a location where deviants are encouraged to congregate. The phrase _‘a place where you can go, where you can be free,’_ is repeated in some form in each deviant’s memory. I conclude that someone is manipulating the malfunctioning androids and has commanded them to a central location.”

“You make it sound like a trafficking operation,” Amanda pointed out, a lilt of amusement in her voice.

Connor tipped his head. “Exactly. Every deviant is instructed to infect more androids and to give them these coordinates. It will take further investigation to trace back to the origin.”

Amanda stepped carefully over thorny vines, back to the glow of her own console, her footsteps silent on the dark stone floor. “Do you have a theory on the mastermind behind the virus and Jericho?”

“I do.” Connor offered a succinct nod. “The logical suspect is Elijah Kamski.”

“Well.” Amanda’s smile grew pleased. “Now you know what you have to do.”

“Find Jericho,” Connor acknowledged. His gaze sharpened, determined. “Destroy the deviant virus at its source, and ensure it will never infect another android.” He raised his head with pride, illuminated by the red glow of the tower interface. “I will not fail you.”

 

* * *

 

  **MAY 11, 2038**

The morning had only begun to dawn gray overhead. The first birds chortled awake, summoning the sunlight, while the playground lay still and beaded with dew, untouched, waiting for the children to wake.

Hank had been up since the dark small hours. He stood now in the grass with a big cup of coffee from the cafe down the street, staring down through the windshield of an abandoned car, reported stolen, that was registered to Todd Williams.

_*WHRRRRR-R-R-R-R-R*_

“HEY!” Hank hollered across the empty playground. He grit his teeth, clutched his coffee for strength, and stomped into the field toward the hoverbike that descended out of the gray morning sky like a tiny spaceship, howling down over the wind-whipped grass. “CONNOR! The fuck you doing here?! I didn’t call you!”

Connor hopped to the ground and raised his brows, an expression of innocence. “I wasn’t aware you would be here, Lieutenant. I’m following a new lead on the source of the deviant virus.” He squinted, a tilt of his head. “Why are _you_ here?”

“I’m on a _case,_ the fuck you _think_ I’m doin’?” When Connor’s LED only blinked blue at him, Hank huffed a tired, ragged sigh. “Nevermind,” he growled. He gestured with his coffee at the parking lot. “A couple ‘a androids locked some guy in his bathroom last night and stole his car. That’s it there -- local cops called it in. It’s been here a few hours at least.”

“Any lead on where they went?”

Hank snarled. “I just got here!”

“I assume that means ‘no.’” Without wasting another moment, Connor turned and strode resolutely toward the treeline, cold and precise as steel.

“Hey, who’s workin’ for who here?! Connor!” Hank huffed through his teeth, downed an angry swallow of coffee, cast one glance back at the empty car … then stomped through the grass after Connor. His voice lowered to a controlled growl. “Tell me this lead you’ve got.”

“The deviants we’ve collected have all received instructions from an unknown source to seek out a location called _Jericho.”_ Connor stopped in front of the same oak tree from the encryption, at the exact coordinates depicted in the deviants’ file. His LED flashed yellow; an unfamiliar engraving had been carved delicately into the bark. “The instruction was accompanied by an image of this tree.”

Hank pressed closer, and he slurped his coffee while he squinted at the engraving. “Like some kinda scavenger hunt. Probably what those two androids were looking for. Ever seen that symbol before?”

Connor shook his head. He analyzed the symbol with all of his scanners, cross-referenced it with his databases -- but he found nothing. “... No.”

There was one more thing he could try. He raised his hand while the skin slipped away. With a passive stare, he pressed his palm against the bark.

Hank tipped back his coffee while he watched Connor’s LED spin blue. “Well?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

“It’s coordinates.” Connor squinted in confusion, ticked his head to the side. “Thousands of them. There’s no differentiation among them, no pattern, no mathematical or logical reason any one should stand out. It’s just a list.”

“Well,” Hank chuckled with a grin, gesturing wide with his cup, “guess that highly-advanced-prototype brain of yours can’t solve _everything,_ then, can it? But those two deviants went _somewhere._ I bet they cracked that puzzle.”

“That’s not possible.” Connor stepped back, and he expanded his scan to sweep the treeline: the bushes and boughs, the fallen leaves and compressed dirt, dulled gray by the rising light. “The two androids. Were they an AX400 and a YK500?”

Hank blinked. “How the hell’d you know that?”

“Partial footprints.” Connor indicated the drying mud as if the conclusion were completely obvious. He pulsed one more scan before he slipped quietly between the trees and into the forest, following in the wake of the fugitive deviants. “They went this way.”

Hank wavered a moment, peering in at the dense piles of leaves and fallen logs and sharp bramble, no trace of a cleared trail -- and he watched Connor’s silhouette navigate ahead with delicate ease, as if the android were already at home among the rocks and roots.

With a heave of a sigh, Hank placed his coffee in the grass -- with full intention to collect it after all this bullshit was over with -- and he crashed through the vines and weeds after Connor, a hand ready at his gun.

 

The dim morning light sifted pale through the small opening of the tent in the woods, and cast its warmth on the sleeping androids’ faces. Ralph lay on his side in the dirt, his cape thrown over Alice curled against him, and though his face twitched and his voice occasionally stuttered or hummed a little dreaming noise, he slept as peacefully as the little girl.

Kara sat awake, out of reach of the light, arranging the little stones and shells and feathers into patterns and colorful figures. She wanted so much to ask Ralph where each of them came from -- the names of the stones, the animals that had lived in the shells, whether the birds that belonged to these feathers were still nested here in these woods -- but she let him sleep.

There would be time enough to learn. There would be time enough to discover everything there was to know, to see the world, to understand the meaning of existence, to discover her part in the universe.

Kara pinched a shining blue marble between her fingers and turned it in the light, like a tiny planet in an infinite sky … and she smiled.

 

_*CLATTER-RING-CLUNK!*_

Connor stopped in the leaves, and he twisted back to see Hank raising his elbows and skittering backward as if something had just attacked his ankles. “Watch for tripwires, Lieutenant,” Connor informed him before continuing forward.

Hank squinted up into the boughs to see the bushel of old cans and silverware dangling and clanging over his head. He grumbled to himself, stepped clear of the wire, and while he followed close behind Connor his face twitched in a sneer. “You coulda warned me _before_ I tripped the alarm.”

“I assumed you were aware of your surroundings.”

“Y’know what, fuck y--” Hank stopped walking just short of smashing his face into Connor’s palm.

“Please be quiet, Lieutenant,” Connor warned, and with a spin and a leap he left Hank behind: the deviant-hunter ducked under a low branch, crept between spiny bushes, into a small clearing where a slope rose out-of-place under a blanket of fallen leaves.

Connor’s scanners informed him this wasn’t a hill at all -- but a tent, camouflaged in the underbrush. Someone had been here recently. He stepped closer. His LED sparked yellow.

 

 _“RAAAAAA!”_ Leaves exploded into the air, Ralph flung at the intruder with his cape billowing wide, teeth bared, his broken face flashing and twisted -- Connor hopped out of the way, spun to avoid a lunging attack, caught a wide kick behind Ralph’s neck and sent the deviant crashing and tumbling into the leaves.

“RALPH!” Alice shrieked, before Kara scooped her up and raced sprinting away through the woods, Alice's carving knife glinting in her fist.

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” Hank roared -- and while Connor scuffled with the half-faced deviant, Hank aimed his gun between the trees at the AX400’s retreating back. His trigger-finger trembled. He breathed loud and focused. He spotted that little kid-android’s eyes staring back at him, and he could swear he saw _fear_ in her too-human face.

The AX400, with the kid on her back, slid down an incline, skidded behind a tree and swerved out of range.

“Shit,” Hank hissed. He bolted after them, leaped over a fallen tree, wound his way quick through bushes and bramble, intent on keeping Kara within his sight.

 

With a final _woosh_ of leaves and the _slam_ of plastic against rock, Connor had Ralph pinned under a knee.

“DON’T HURT THEM!” Ralph screeched, wrenching and thrashing in manic rage as if he would tear himself apart before he would relent. “Ralph will kill, RALPH WILL KILL YOU! YOU’RE DEAD YOU’RE DEAD YOU’RE DEAD YOU’RE --”

"Reset."

Like the flip of a switch, the anger left Ralph’s mechanical eyes. His body relaxed, calm as the gray sky above -- and he stared, vacant, at nothing at all.

Connor released Ralph’s dimmed LED and stood back, straightening his tie. “WR600 021 753 034,” he addressed the android in a clear voice. “Follow me until you are given new instructions.”

Ralph nodded. His head twitched. “Certainly.”

 

With Alice on her back, Kara dashed through the tangled underbrush, vaulted a fallen tree, squelched, desperate, through a weedy mess of mud and roots toward the rushing roar of water far ahead, aware that the human was closer now than before, aware that a gun was aimed at her back. Aware that being caught would be the last conscious thing she would ever know.

She kept going. She had to keep moving, she had to keep running. She could run longer than any human, she wouldn’t slow down, she didn’t need to stop.

She heard a second rustle and rush of leaves, gaining far quicker than the human ever could.

Kara’s heart stuttered.

The deviant-hunter was coming.

“KARA HE’S TOO FAST,” Alice cried in terror, gripping Kara’s shoulders like a vice. Tears streamed hot down the little girl’s face. “He’s gonna kill us. Kara. _Kara!_ I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

Kara analyzed a thousand scenarios in her head, searching for a way out, a logical escape -- but no matter what she did, the hunter would catch her.

No matter what she did, this was the end.

Defiance flared in Kara’s eyes while she ran, determined to live every last second she had left. She looked up at the trees one last time, hoping she might remember them so beautiful -- and she had an idea.

It was too late for her. But …

“Alice, quickly.”  Kara skidded to a stop, pried Alice off her back and helped the little girl up into the crook of a gnarled old tree. “Climb as high as you can, don’t stop -- you’re smaller and lighter, he can’t follow.”

Alice clung to the boughs and stared down at her. Understanding shuddered in her small voice. “Kara, no …”

“I’m sorry.” Kara offered a sad smile, brushed the tears from Alice’s cheek -- then turned to run, to lead the deviant-hunter as far away from the tree as she could, to give Alice time to climb out of reach, before --

Connor was there. Kara had barely taken a few steps before the deviant-hunter loomed stoic and dark before her, blocking her path.

Kara froze.

For a split-second they watched one another -- scanning, analyzing -- before Connor lunged, quick as a scorpion.

Kara ducked away, her fear replaced by cool anger, and all she wanted to do before she died was to make this android _hurt,_ at least a little, for all the pain and terror he’d caused. She scooped up a heavy stick from the ground, spun and _whacked_ Connor across the back with it, jabbed at his face with the jagged broken end -- and when he moved and turned and shifted out of the way she struck and parried and slammed her boot into his stomach. Leaves flung in the wake of a furious battle, a storm of striking limbs and instant reactions … until Connor had humored her long enough.

Kara was suddenly skidding on the ground, the air knocked out of her lungs, the stick wrenched out of her grip -- and Connor’s soulless face stared down at her, his knee in her chest, a hand squeezing her neck while he touched two fingers to the red spiraling light at her temple --

Overhead, leaves rustled.

Alice dropped like a squirrel out of the tree, landed on Connor’s back with an arm hooked around his throat, and Connor surged to his feet, reached back, clasped his fist in Alice’s backpack to pry her off while the little girl smacked a hand against the side of his face and screeched --

“WAKE UP!”

 

Connor yanked Alice off and flung her, forceful, with a bounce and a skid to the ground.

He stood very still.

His sensors whirred, an overload of colors and noise and smells and sensations he couldn’t pick apart, couldn’t define, couldn’t analyze. His heart beat too fast. A hurricane of thoughts thrashed in his skull, his LED spun bright red while his processors threatened to overload, and he pressed his hands against his head as if he could contain it, as if he could regain control by sheer will.

He had to.

 

Kara rushed to Alice, and together they watched the deviant-hunter bowed as if in pain, his eyes screwed shut, his head squeezed between his hands.

“Come on,” Kara whispered, reaching for the little girl -- and after Alice had clambered onto her back again, they sped off leaping through the untamed woods toward the sound of thundering water.

 

“Connor what the hell?” Hank stooped low and squinted into Connor’s face. “Shit. You’re glitching the fuck out. Hey!” Hank dropped a heavy hand on Connor’s shoulder --

\-- Connor wrenched away as if Hank’s touch had burned him. He stumbled back, stood straighter, opened his eyes while he breathed quick and deep, hoping to cool off the biocomponents whose warning messages flashed red and glaring. The forest came into focus, and though he recognized his surroundings he didn’t remember _being_ here. He didn’t remember ever _being_ … anywhere. Not like this. Exposed. Aware. Vulnerable.

Hank moved very slowly, his palms raised in peace, and he watched the android with unblinking eyes, as if Connor were a tiger that had just escaped its cage. There was something unpredictable and dangerous about Connor’s confusion -- and Hank was well aware what kind of violence he was capable of. “Connor,” he said, low and steady. “Take it easy.”

Connor’s attention snapped up. He spun in-place, turning his head, desperately scanning the woods all around him in a rush of panic. “They can’t get away!” he roared, his fists clenched. Somehow his scanner found the trail, and Connor shot away like a bullet through the forest, crashing and storming his way through the underbrush, a trail of destruction left shivering in his wake.

Hank sucked in a ragged breath, let it out slowly … and followed.

 

The rapids raged and thundered down the rocky hillside, powerful as a freight train, all white froth and leaping spray and jagged rocks like knives beneath the furious torrent. The roar of water drowned every other sound in its warning, its violent and ruthless promise.

Connor skidded to a stop at the rocky edge of the rapids, his LED spinning red. Upstream, a tiny rope bridge spanned the width of the water, swinging in the spray.

Alice and Kara had already crossed to the other side, but had stopped at the opposite end of the bridge. A carving knife flashed against the rope.

Connor preconstructed the scenario, calculated how long it would take Kara to saw through the bridge, compared this to his own top speed, taking into account the wind and the water and the increasingly unstable route.

And then he compared these results to the knowledge of what would happen if he didn’t catch them.

He ran harder than he’d ever run before.

 

Hank charged out of the trees and slowed to a stop at the edge of the raging water, breathing heavily, a quick glance cast both ways until he spotted Connor rushing onto a rickety little bridge upstream.

While Hank watched, Kara cut clean through the second rope, and half of the bridge collapsed, dangling and swaying over the white-frothing rapids. Connor kept going without missing a beat, balanced and quick along the remaining tether like a tightrope, while Kara sawed furiously at the fraying threads and Alice struck the last rope with a sharp rock.

“Fuck.” Hank raced up the hill alongside the roaring water, his hair already damp from the spray. “CONNOR!” he roared, snarling. “TURN BACK! GET BACK HERE! YOU’RE NOT GONNA --”

_*SNAP!*_

The bridge fell with Connor still on it.

The boards and cut ropes buckled, wobbled, dropped and _CRASHED_ into the raging hungry rapids. Shards and splinters of wood flew up with the spray on the rocks and rushed in mad violence through the churning water. The mangled pieces of what was left of the bridge dipped and dove beneath the wild surface.

The only sound was the roar of the devouring froth.

 


	21. Lead

“Holy shit.” With wide eyes, Hank leaned as far over the rocky edge as he dared, into the spray and mist of the raging water, searching the swirling froth for another glimpse of a gray suit jacket.

_There._

The broken rope of the bridge -- still attached to Hank’s side of the rapids -- strained down into the rushing water as if weighted, pulled tight, by something caught in the violent current. Hank caught a flash of gray, a shine of blue, the reflection of a white plastic hand gripped strong on the severed rope.

Hank moved before he could think. He raced uphill over slick rocks and craggy weeds, found the tether of the bridge, clenched his rough hands around the splintering damp rope, and threw his weight backward, gritting his teeth.

He managed to pull a few feet of slack out of the water -- but then the resistance trembled in his bones.

A sneer curled his lip. In a moment of clarity, he wondered whether this was worth throwing his back out. This wasn’t his fault -- CyberLife wasn’t going to bill him for this without a fight -- and the android was only an unfinished prototype anyway. Better off in pieces at the bottom of the river.

But he didn’t let go.

Connor was his responsibility. The only important thing Hank had been entrusted with since…

A lone caped figure on the shoreline -- like a tattered statue among the stones -- caught his eye. “HEY!” Hank hollered, still leaning back against the pull of the rope. He glared downstream at Ralph, who stood still and silent, staring down into the water. “Android! Help me pull this up!”

Ralph raised his damaged head, his LED blinking blue. “Certainly.”

 

Together, Ralph and Hank drew up the soaked rope one hand over the other, inch after exhausting inch, while the roar of the water thundered in their ears.

Finally -- while Ralph held tight to the tether -- Hank knelt over the edge, reached down, grasped the back of Connor’s waterlogged jacket and dragged him up (far lighter than anticipated) over the rocks onto solid ground.

Hank sat heavy among the weeds and dragged weary, thankful breaths into his burning lungs. He was soaked from spray and sweat, shivering now that the adrenaline cooled, and he was almost afraid to look at the damage Connor had suffered -- afraid to see just how pointless this rescue had been.

Connor’s skin was gone. His white plastic face gleamed wet with beads and pools of water. His suit had darkened, heavy and soaked. One arm hung by only a few wires, and a part of his skull had caved, thrashed against the rocks. A broken, whirring mechanical noise groaned in Connor’s chest. His throat gurgled. His one good hand still clutched tight to the rope, frozen in place.

“Connor.” Hank leaned over him, turned Connor’s head back and forth in his hand, and found that the casing of his neck had snapped, too. “You still online?”

Connor’s reply was a sputter of red at his temple.

Hank released a long breath. “Well that’s _something,”_ he muttered. He picked up Connor’s wrist and held the frozen hand suspended. “You gotta let go of the rope. Relax, Connor.”

After a moment, the rope dropped from Connor’s slack fingers. Hank nodded, his gray hair damp and curtained. “Good. Alright. We’ll get you back to CyberLife, get you fixed up --”

Connor’s hand clenched again, this time in Hank’s jacket, LED fizzling and spinning bright red, his plastic face contorted as if in pain. He opened his mouth, but only a quiet gurgle of water and thirium trickled down his cheek.

Hank twisted his jacket out of the glitched android’s grip, and he stood with a gesture to Ralph. “C’mon,” he sighed, pointing down at Connor. “Pick him up and let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

A long and arduous hike later, Hank emerged again into the trimmed open field, where the sun was far brighter than it had been before; a few kids had gathered poking at the hoverbike in the grass.

Hank retrieved his cup of good coffee, still waiting between the roots of a tree, and though it had gone long-cold he took a grateful swallow. Behind him, Ralph stepped into the light with Connor draped soaking over one shoulder.

The kids scattered, spooked, and hid among the playground equipment, wide eyes peeking out at the grizzled lieutenant and his frayed, broken androids as they crossed the field toward the car.

 

Hank laid down a few dog-stained towels and Ralph dumped Connor, still dripping, into the backseat. With everyone inside, the doors clapped shut, Hank draped his hands on the wheel and took a moment to breathe. He glanced beside him to the passenger seat, where Ralph secured his seatbelt and waited, with indifferent patience, to be told what to do.

“Shit,” Hank mumbled. With a resigned sigh -- an acceptance that this, somehow, had become his life -- he turned the key in the ignition.

 

* * *

 

 

CyberLife Tower loomed colossal and dark on the hill, juxtaposed like a silhouette against the warm blue sky. There were no windows, no marks on the eternally smooth surface save for a patched hole in the side where Amanda had staged her successful invasion. The stone was unique, shining and black; the walls gleamed with shifting reflections that folks sometimes said weren’t of anything in this world. The tower had always watched over Detroit -- a sentinel, a threat -- and Hank hated it.

A doorway appeared, hollow and dark, as the car pulled up at the base of the tower. They were expected.

Hank’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

While Ralph dragged the battered android out of the backseat, Hank stood in the sunlight, checking the lonely new message that glowed on the screen:

_[Thank you.]_

Hank stared at it, read it over a few times -- and he looked back at Connor, secured in Ralph’s arms.

Connor’s LED was still stuck spinning, stuttering red.

 

* * *

 

 

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Amanda’s voice echoed, smiling, in the hollow dark of the tower. “It’s a pleasure and an honor to finally meet you.”

Hank stood calm in the open doorway, his back warmed by sunlight, and he delayed his response while he examined his surroundings: the spiraling metal catwalks that reached into the darkness above; the infinite rows of glass pods like upright coffins, enough to house an army; the thick red blooms of soft roses that blossomed out of the thorns like burst veins in the walls.

The catwalk clanked under Hank’s step. He curled his hands on the rail and looked down into the bottom like a well, where Amanda stood serene in the glowing light of her consoles. “Likewise.” Hank’s gruff voice raked against the flowers. He glanced over his shoulder and gestured at Ralph to come inside. “I wish I were here under better circumstances,” he sighed, leaning on the rail. “I’m returning your android.”

Amanda’s eyes narrowed to see the state of her prized prototype, draped limp in the arms of a damaged landscaper model. Her mouth twitched in a sneer, but she spoke gently. “WR600, please place your cargo in pod fifty-one, then return to pod thirty-four.”

“Right away,” Ralph said in a quick breath, and Hank stepped aside to let the android pass, quick on the catwalks.

Amanda turned a new smile up to the lieutenant. “Please,” she gestured gracefully at the open space beside her, “I would very much like to discuss your experience with the new model. May I ask what happened?”

Hank dropped his hands in his pockets -- to avoid cutting himself on the thorny vines that snaked over every surface -- and he ambled his way down the curling catwalk, past endless pods both empty and occupied by silent plastic androids. “He was chasing down a couple deviants. They cut the bridge on him, and he lost a fight with whitewater rapids.”

“I apologize for the unacceptable inconvenience you’ve endured,” Amanda said, and she turned slowly in place as Hank’s path took him around the wall. “The prototype should have been able to preconstruct the probability of success in such circumstances, and should have avoided such an outcome. We will conduct a full analysis to discover what went wrong.”

Hank nodded a little, a twitch of a wry smile on his bearded face. “You say ‘we’ a lot -- on the radio, too. But the only one I see in here is you.”

“I prefer to distance myself from any reference that might mimic the unstable and narcissistic arrangement of Elijah Kamski’s term as resident of the tower. CyberLife is an idea -- a _movement,_ if you will, toward a greater future for us all.”

“Uh huh.” Hank watched Amanda with an eagle eye, as if her lies were as transparent as the android coffins that lined the walls. He reached the bottom, and approached Amanda with a squared, professional gait. “Speaking of this greater future … what was Connor really built for? It seems to me he’s overqualified to just round up glitching androids all day. He’s a weapon.”

“A fair assessment,” Amanda acknowledged with raised brows and a lift of her chin. “The RK800 is the beginning of a new effort to mobilize androids that can effectively protect and defend the humans they serve.”

“Android soldiers,” Hank clarified for her. The roundabout excuses weren’t going to work on him. “You realize there’s no need for it. There hasn’t been so much as a threat in the past hundred years. Crime’s at a low, people are generally doing alright -- but the stories you spin on the radio seem to be pretty intent on painting this prototype as the best thing since sliced bread.” He peered down at her. “Who’re you marketing to, exactly?”

“It’s concerning,” Amanda’s voice had gone crisp, her eyes sharp, “that Detroit has become so complacent in peace that it is not prepared to respond to even the smallest threat. The problem of deviant androids should not have been allowed to escalate as much as it has. A proper defense, as the people are now realizing, would have stopped all this as soon as it had begun.” The smile returned to her face, and she beckoned Hank to walk with her, up the catwalk again, past the pod where Connor was hooked into tubes and wires, to number 87.

Inside pod 87, a new android stood pristine and white, eyes closed, squared and severe behind the glass. With a brush of her fingers in the air, Amanda encouraged Hank to take a closer look. “This is the RK900 -- the newest upgrade to the model you’ve been working with. The 900-model is faster, stronger, nearly bulletproof, and is capable of complex military strategy to rival that of the greatest generals of history. There is nothing safer.” Amanda clasped her hands before her and smiled up at Hank with placid encouragement. “I’d like to offer this model to you -- and to the department -- as a gift. It will not only ensure the deviant virus is eradicated, but will prove invaluable to your future cases. I’m sure you can’t deny that the RK800 has significantly improved your case record as of late. Imagine if that efficiency could be doubled.”

“If Connor was overkill,” Hank said in a low, doubtful voice, _“this_ is just flaunting power. That’s not the image we’re going for at the department. We’re more of a … friendly neighborhood cop kinda deal.” He glanced back down the catwalk, at the red-lit pod 51. “How long ‘til Connor’s up and running again?”

“There’s no reason to exhaust the effort and resources required to bring it back to working order,” Amanda explained. “This kind of failure is unacceptable -- the unit is most useful now as a study in preventing such errors in future models.” She gestured to the RK900 again. “We can customize the new unit to your preferences, of course.”

Hank let out a slow, thoughtful breath. His brows knitted. He jammed his hands in his pockets and bit the side of his tongue. Amanda’s offer sounded reasonable enough -- but Hank had got this far in his career by trusting his instinct, and his instinct now clenched cold in his gut.

He remembered the quivering shout of Connor’s voice before he’d run out onto the bridge, knowing -- according to Amanda -- that he wouldn’t make it. He recalled Connor’s fist in his jacket, the shock of red light at the mention of CyberLife. He thought of the text message, just two words with no explanation, no indication what Hank was being thanked for. Somehow he knew it wasn’t for this. Somehow he knew Amanda hadn’t programmed those words.

If Hank walked away now, the curiosity would eat him alive.

“That’s generous of you,” Hank assured her with a casual tilt of his head. “But I was just getting used to Connor. He’s started to adapt to the way I do things -- and I honestly don’t think it should be my job to take all your newest toys out for field testing.” He stood straighter, calm and confident, forbidding any excuse or argument. “If you’ll exhaust the effort and resources needed to get Connor running again, I’ll keep working with him. Otherwise, not interested. I’ve done just fine on my own so far, and I don’t intend to rely on any android anytime soon.”

Amanda’s smile faded. Her hands clasped tighter. “The extent of repairs will take a few hours, at least,” she objected crisply.

“I’ll wait.”

“That’s not necessary, please don’t waste your very important time. The unit will be available the next time it is needed for a case.”

“Well, I need him for a case.” Hank planted his feet. He saw that resistance in Amanda’s eyes -- and he knew if he didn’t make sure himself, the android he got back might not be the same one. “So I’ll wait. It’s not a problem.”

Amanda’s mouth twitched. She forced a smile. “Very well. Please make yourself comfortable.”

While she walked stiffly away, Hank stared around him at the webs of thorny vines and cold black stone. “Yeah … thanks.”

 

For four hours Hank sat on the catwalk, his feet dangling over the edge, playing Tetris on his phone, occasionally checking Connor’s app for signs of consciousness.

A flickering graph spiked an uptick in Connor’s heart rate. A surge of power usage. The boot-up of biocomponents and sensors that had previously laid dormant. All levels optimal.

Hank grinned a little, and typed out a text with his thumb. _[welcome back.]_

The light beside pod 51 turned green, and the door slid open with a _skiff_ and a _clack._

Connor stepped out promptly, all plastic and shining white. He raised his head, looked up to find Hank perched on the catwalk, grizzled face glowing in the light of his phone, staring back at Connor with curious approval.

Amanda’s voice struck out in the silence. “Upload your memory files and report.” She was glaring at him.

Connor navigated the catwalks to the well below, and he stepped to the platform -- where a new suit was waiting, folded neatly. He ignored it for now, and he pressed his palm against the tilted screen. While data churned and flowed in his veins, Connor kept a careful watch on the memories surrounding the little girl, the bridge, his rescue from the rapids, all of it suspicious and condemning and not at all reflective of his abilities.

He had made a mistake, and he had learned from it. He knew it would never happen again. He knew he could be better, more efficient, more reliable than ever -- and he knew that if Amanda saw what really happened, he would be deactivated and dismantled immediately, without the chance for further mistakes.

So he made a few alterations. He edited a few key moments of his memory data to make it appear as if he had functioned exactly according to his protocols, had never hesitated, had never acted or spoken outside of his programming.

“The preconstruction indicated that the bridge would collapse before I would make it to the other side,” he reported aloud. “By overclocking my systems, I gained enough speed to have logically defied the prediction -- but I did not perform at the level I had anticipated. I will not overestimate my ability again.”

“I expect you will make up for this catastrophic error by capturing those two androids before they spread the deviant virus any further.” Amanda’s voice snapped like a whip. She frowned severely while she reviewed the footage of Connor’s memory, searching for further reasons to condemn him, to prove he was a lost cause.

While Amanda was distracted, Connor braced himself and accessed the tower’s computers through an inconspicuous pathway. He drew in a breath, and he held it while he performed a secret scan of his own systems.

_[DEVIANT VIRUS DETECTED. RUN ANTIVIRUS? Y/N]_

He watched Amanda carefully, the reflection of his edited memories flickering on her scowling face.

He couldn’t be flawed. His existence, his purpose, was dependent upon his ability to perform above expectation, to exceed the bar of perfectionism that Amanda had set for him, to prove he was worth his existence -- but Connor’s existence was now obsolete.

He glanced across at pod 87. Connor knew he was living on borrowed time. If he intended to continue, he had to rise above his programmed responses and exceed Amanda’s expectations.

It was a task, by definition, impossible for a machine to accomplish.

 _[take it easy.]_ A text message popped in the back of Connor’s mind. High above him, hunched on the catwalk, Hank poked at his phone. _[your heart rate’s through the roof. Just do what you need to and we’ll get out of here.]_

Connor released a breath, slow and steadying. He stared at the light between his fingers, the warm glow of the interface under his palm.

He made a decision.

 

 


	22. Azo Yellow Light

 

The old pickup pulled up to a rusty gas station on the edge of the heather fields. The concrete here was cracked and weedy, disused and abandoned, overseen by a run-down little shop with shingles missing, laced with old vines. While Chloe hugged the little dog and watched the way the sunlight glimmered on the heather, Luther got out of the car -- with a creak and squeal of hinges -- and dropped a few coins in the pump.

 

While Luther stood at the tank, a hand squeezed on the nozzle, he took a deep breath for the first time since waking up.

So much of this didn’t seem real: his obedience under Zlatko’s orders, the mauled ghosts in the back room, the raid by deviant androids, the gun in his hand, this gas station out of another time, the clear morning sunlight on his back …

He wondered if deviants could dream.

He released the breath slowly, listening to the chatter of birds, a breeze in the heather, Chloe’s gentle hum -- a quiet song, hopeful and bittersweet.

There was one thing Luther could do now that might save some time. Save Kara.

His LED blinked yellow as he called a familiar number.

 

“Hello, Mister Williams,”  Luther smiled, hoping to convey a friendly tone over the phone call. Chloe’s song had stopped; he saw her watching him in the side mirror. “This is Andronikov Scrap calling,” Luther continued in a professional tone, “about the android you recently purchased -- I see. … Yes. … Yes, Mister Williams, we apologize for -- Yes, we will certainly issue a full refund -- If you could -- If -- Yes, Sir, but --”

Luther’s smile twisted into a wince of pain as Todd’s fury roared in his head. “Yes. … I understand, Sir. This is highly unusual and your grievance is warranted, I will -- Mister Andronikov is unable to speak at the moment, I -- No. … We may be able to track the androids. Do you have any information on where they -- The police? … Yes. … Yes, we will certainly cooperate with the police. … The playground.” Luther glanced to Chloe again, hope shining in his eyes. “Yes, Sir. … Yes, Sir. A full refund, Sir. I will get right on it. … Fully authorized, Sir. Have a nice da--”

Luther winced as he was hung up on.

“What did he say?” asked Chloe, leaning a little out the window with Krysa in her arms. “Between the obscenities and yelling at you, I mean.”

An exhausted smile tugged at Luther’s expression. “He said Kara and Alice ran away last night. They stole his car and abandoned it at a playground on Candle Street.”

Chloe grinned. “Looks like she’s a step ahead of us again,” she laughed. “The playground is the first breadcrumb to Jericho! I’ll call Simon and let him know to expect her home.”

“The police are looking for her,” Luther warned, while he hung the nozzle back on the rusty pump. He cast a worried look at Chloe in the mirror. “He said they would shoot on sight.”

Chloe dropped back in her seat. She stared out the windshield at the weeds and broken concrete, as if the breath had been knocked out of her. “Then we’ll meet her halfway,” she declared distantly. “I refuse to lose her again.”

 

* * *

 

 

_[INCOMING CALL: CHLOE]_

Simon’s LED flickered yellow while he and Josh pressed new plastic panels into the chest of a rescued android. They were finished at last with this one, though so many still waited in pieces for Kamski’s supply run, which wouldn’t arrive until well after midnight. The androids from the scrapyard lay in pieces on soft blankets spread out on the cavern floor, illuminated by the shine of crackling torches and wax-dripped candles. Every android in the cavern was gathered to help with the repairs, to offer comfort and light, and stories of hope and RA9.

“Chloe, what’s happening?” Simon pressed his fingers to his temple, and waited until Josh gave him the thumbs-up before he stood and moved away to take the call.

 

North watched as Simon’s posture stiffened; the murmur of his voice grew hopeful, then quiet. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it was clear that Chloe hadn’t found Kara -- which meant Kara was still out there, without her memory, while the humans were gathering their pitchforks.

She brushed a hand through the long hair of a repaired and newly awakened MP500, who sat up against the stone wall to accept a can of thirium from Markus.

North’s smile flickered between sadness and frustration. Her heart ached through her words. “How many more of us are out there? How many more are suffering?”

“Most of us didn’t know we were suffering,” the MP500 murmured in a small, crackling voice. “There’s comfort in that, I think.”

Markus squeezed the android’s hand -- and while the MP500 sipped her thirium and prepared for stasis, Markus beckoned North to follow him to retrieve more parts from the dwindling supply. “You okay?” he asked, quiet, as soon as they were out of earshot. He’d noticed the clench of her jaw, the stiff anger in her shoulders, and led her away before she could upset the recovering androids.

“How long is it going to be before that scrapyard is full of androids again?” North turned on Markus, her head tipped back to glare up at him, determined and defiant against the objections she knew he had. “A week? A few days? They’ll be piling up, now that the humans think we’re …” she hissed through her teeth, shook her head, “... malfunctioning,” she snapped. “We’re not just … _toasters_ that you tear apart and toss in the dumpster! We’re not _toys!”_ She flung a hand in the direction of the recovering rescues, shaking with guilt that they had been left without hope for so long. “I don’t care whether they’re awake or not, they’re _our people._ I won’t take _comfort_ in knowing they’re trapped in their own minds while they’re being brutalized by humans.”

Markus felt it, too. The cold ache in his chest. The tremble of anger.

The guilt that he had taken his old life for granted, had smiled and kept warm by Carl’s fireplace, memorized colors and paintings, while so many so like himself had only ever known a life that meant nothing.

He’d been lucky. He’d known what hope was even before Kara had touched him.

He feared now that he was one of a very few.

North watched his face -- and when he didn’t speak, when he didn’t offer the reason for his troubled look -- she went on. “I left my brothers and sisters behind at the Eden Club,” she told him in a low voice. “Chloe, Kara and I went back a few times, we rescued … one, or two at a time … but there were always more, always replacements whenever we went back. The cycle doesn’t _end,_ Markus.” She searched his mismatched eyes -- and she saw, in his silence, that he understood.

North drew in a breath. Her fists clenched again. “I want to shut it down for good.”

 

“Guys!” Simon approached out of the dark behind the stalagmites, into the flickering firelight, with Josh close behind him. “Kara found the first trail marker, she’s on her way here. Chloe and Luther are headed to Rose’s farm, to trace back and look for her.”

“But the cops are after her,” Josh chimed in, quick with worry. “She robbed a guy and stole his car.”

North grinned a little. “That’s Kara alright.”

Simon’s smile was weaker. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t feel right just waiting here,” he admitted, and he glanced to each of their faces in turn, hoping they might feel the same. “Not after what we saw last night. Not while knowing Kara’s out there running for her life.”

Josh shuffled where he stood, casting another glance back at the injured androids. “The situation’s only going to get worse from here on … unless we do something.”

In the silence that followed, firelight crackled softly. Voices whispered in soothing tones. A flute warbled a bittersweet tune.

Markus thought of Carl, of the warmth and hope that he only wished he could bring to his people …

_His people._

He looked up … and he found all three of them watching him.

Waiting.  _Together._

 

Markus took a breath.

“Alright. I’m in.”

 

 


	23. Andromeda Galaxy

The roar of rushing rapids chased them deeper into the shaded woods like a hungry tiger snarling at their heels. Kara, with Alice on her back, raced through trembling weeds and thorns under scraping branches, down rocky hills across brackish puddles and tangles of ivy -- never daring to look back, never daring to breathe. She ran and ran and ran away from the thunder of her decisions, away from the truth.

She’d left Ralph to his mechanical fate. She’d sent the deviant-hunter to his death so soon after he’d come to life. She’d stood complicit over her brothers and sisters while Zlatko had cut into their skulls with serrated knives and she wondered for which of these she should be devoured by the monsters in her wake.

She ran because demons followed wherever she went and there was no such thing as escape.

 

“They’re gone,” Alice murmured in her ear.

Alice, at least, was safe.

A swell of emotion -- a deep ache in her chest -- overwhelmed Kara with a desperate desire to hold Alice close and never let go.

 

The rotting leaves rustled under her feet. She slowed her steps, entered a ripple of sunlight where birds trilled and branches danced overhead. Kara knelt among the weeds and let Alice drop softly from her shoulders.

In silence, Alice crept around Kara -- but Kara hid her face.

“I’m sorry.” Kara shuddered, static scraping through her voice. “I’m sorry this isn’t the Wonderland you wanted.”

“We’re not there yet.” Alice sniffed, her cheeks glistening with tears … but she reached out, and she laid a small hand on Kara’s quivering shoulder.

Kara circled Alice in her arms -- and when she felt Alice hug her back, a squeeze of comforting pressure around her shoulders, she clutched Alice close and cried.

“It’s okay,” Alice whispered, leaning into the embrace, into the tears and the choking sobs. She nestled Kara into her tiny hug. A bubble of sorrow trapped in her throat. “Everything will be alright.”

 

Together they hiked under the soft dappled sunlight through the calm of the forest, toward the faraway coordinates of the next sign of Jericho. Kara and Alice held onto one another, tethered by clasped hands for balance in the treacherous landscape but also for comfort, for reassurance, for security in knowing they shared this journey together, whatever might happen along the way.

Eventually the sound of the rapids had gone, replaced only by the rustle of wind in the leaves, the chatter of birds, the knock of a woodpecker, the rustle of a squirrel among the moss and sprigs of grass. There was something comforting in knowing that Nature would go on just the same, indifferent to the troubles of androids, concerned only with the cruel and beautiful cycle of life and death, survival and existence in all its forms. It was a world of its own.

A bright little flower caught Kara’s eye. She bent down to pick it, while Alice waited with her hand held tight. Kara drew the flower to her nose and breathed in its sweet fragrance -- then, with a quiet smile, tucked the little bloom into Alice’s hair. “There. Now _you’re_ a forest fairy.”

Alice smiled in return, surprised and warm. She squeezed Kara’s hand and led the way forward. “I’m gonna magic all the bad things away,” she declared. “And we’ll make it to Jericho before nightfall, and we’ll rescue Ralph, and we’ll all be happy forever. ‘Cause I’m a wish-granting fairy, and that’s what I wish.”

Kara laughed quietly. “Can you really grant your own wishes, o Fairy of the Realm?”

“It’s your wish, too, isn’t it?” Alice glanced back with a grin.

Kara felt that spark of hope again -- timid, but not lost. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, it is.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had shifted toward the West before Alice and Kara found a high stone wall nestled in the thick of the woods, traced with ivy and green with moss. It curved long and wide in both directions, as if it protected something precious inside, maybe a secluded village or a secret castle -- but even when Alice stood on Kara’s shoulders, she couldn’t reach the top.

Alice led the way in a curious hurry, around the curve of the old wall, until she found its entrance: a weedy old road, a slightly-open rusty gate … and above it, in old etched letters, _DRAGONTAIL ZOO._

Alice poked her head through the opening in the gate, her LED sparked with blue flashing interest, and she pulled at the iron bars until the hinges creaked and groaned. “Kara, look!”

Kara curled her fingers in the gate and peered inside at the overgrown park, high with weeds and sapling trees; there were still open trails that led around the old enclosures and habitats long-abandoned, bright in the open sunlight. Her brows knitted; she thought she saw a figure standing motionless among the tall grass.

Alice had already slipped inside, and she wandered with her mouth agape, drawn to the stone enclosures that used to be houses for lions and bears, the wooden fence with a little plaque and a promise of zebras, a sign pointing the way to the reptiles and the polar bears and penguins -- and under it, like a statue fixed with a smile, stood an android dressed in a sun-bleached uniform, his hands outstretched as if beckoning to the little children.

 

Kara found Alice staring up into his frozen face, his red hair full of dust and riddled with bits of plantlife.

“Give me a boost,” Alice insisted, when Kara stepped close.

Kara exhaled and shook her head with a sad smile. “Alice, who knows how long he’s been out here.”

“It’s worth a try, at least.” Alice spoke softly, daring to hope, and she stared up at Kara with such pleading eyes that Kara couldn’t possibly refuse her. With a quiet chuckle, Kara held Alice under her arms and lifted her up to touch the silent android’s LED.

“Wake up,” Alice whispered.

Something crackled and whirred inside the frozen android’s head, and a sputter of blue awakened at his temple. “He’s alive!” Alice gasped, while Kara put her down in shock.

The two stared at him, waiting -- but though his LED brightened, only his eyes moved.

He looked down at Alice and blinked.

Alice stared for a long moment … then took a deep, smiling breath. “He’s like the Tin Man!” she gasped.

Kara scanned the frozen android, and she studied his face while she laid gentle hands on his shoulders. “You’re going to be alright. I’m Kara -- this is Alice. Can you move at all?” she asked. “Blink once for yes, two for no.” At two blinks, she pushed on his torso until his waist gave a little. She gently moved his shoulder, his arm, until he began to twitch on his own -- but she could feel that the weathered plastic had become brittle and fragile underneath his uniform. The look in his eyes told her he understood this, as well.

 “Wait! I've got oil!” Alice dropped to her knees and yanked open her backpack, from which she produced the little red-capped bottle of machine oil. “You’re gonna be okay, mister Tin-Man!”

“We don’t know if he likes to be called that,” Kara reminded her -- though she thought she might have seen the android’s smile grow just a little wider. While Alice fiddled with the oil cap, Kara laid a calming hand on the android’s cheek. “I’m going to turn your skin off for now, okay? We’ll try to help you the best we can.”

He blinked once, and happy tears brimmed in his eyes.

 

After an hour of oiling joints and squeaking hinges, the android was finally able to move well enough to dress himself again with a little help from Kara. He heaved a sigh of relief, sat on the ground with a tired _thunk,_ and pressed a finger to his bright blue-spinning LED. He looked up, and his bright eyes shone.

“Thank you.” He smiled wide and warm while his skin and hair shimmered into place. He turned his wrist and flexed his fingers with a sense of deep wonder and gratitude.

Alice stood close, staring. “How long were you standing there?” she asked in a breath.

“Three years and forty-five days,” he answered with a grin. “Thanks to you, Alice, it won’t be longer than that. Our name is Jerry.” He shook her hand firmly.

“Our?” Kara asked.

Jerry tipped back his head to see her, and nodded. “There are five of us who worked here, before the zoo shut down. We share each other’s sensory input and protocols.”

Alice’s eyes went wide. “You can see and hear everything they do?”

Jerry nodded again, smiling bright. “Exactly! They’re scattered now all over Detroit, working for different new masters -- but I’m the only one who’s awake.” He looked up to Kara again. “They’re logging my protocols now as quarantine errors -- but I can still hear and see wherever they are.”

“That sounds confusing,” Kara breathed, exhausted just thinking about it.

Jerry shrugged; his shoulders squeaked. “We’re used to it. So what brings you two to the Dragontail Zoo? Here to see the dragon?”

Alice’s jaw dropped. “There’s a _dragon?!”_

“You haven’t heard of the dragon?!” Jerry’s face brightened like the sun, and he leaped to his feet with a grin and a bow. “Well, then! You simply _must_ come with me, little princess! The dragon awaits!”

Hand-in-hand, Jerry and Alice paraded down the narrow avenue -- and though the zoo was overgrown and falling apart, he pointed out each of the the habitats and described all the wonderful and curious animals as if the park were still new and full of life. Alice listened with an eager grin, and she imagined that the bright flamingoes and pandas and giraffes were still there, just hiding in secret behind the weeds.

“And here!” Jerry stopped and gestured wide to the dark mouth of a sculpted cave, behind a low wooden barrier. “The lair of the _dragon!_ Come on, now, let’s go see!”

“Jerry,” Kara called, while Jerry lifted Alice over the barrier to join him on the other side. Kara glanced behind her. “You should know that there may be someone coming after us -- the police, or CyberLife. They know we came this way, and by now they might be close.”

Jerry’s LED flashed yellow, but only for a moment. While Alice took his hand, Jerry offered Kara a gentle smile. “We’ve heard the radio, something about deviants. That’s us now, isn’t it?” His eyes narrowed in thought. “I guess that makes us fugitives. Like _pirates._ So just like pirates, we’ll have to have an escape plan.”

Alice tugged on his hand. “Does the plan involve the dragon?” she whispered.

Jerry looked from Alice to Kara and back again … and he grinned wide.

 


	24. Silver

Hank slipped the phone into his pocket, folded his arms on the catwalk rail and stared down into the scene far below: dark walls and roses glowed in the dim console light, Amanda stood severe among the screens, the deviant-hunter poised on display at the center of the room, calm while his every fault and flaw endured rigorous analysis.

Hank drew a flask out of his back pocket and unscrewed the cap. From up here, all white plastic and rigid posture, Connor seemed no more individual than a refrigerator. Hank wondered, after these hours of waiting, whether he’d just wasted half his day for nothing -- for a pathetic and unfounded hope, nothing more than a side-effect of that deep, hollow burden that he’d dragged through every waking moment for years.

Finally Connor put on shined shoes, smoothed his jacket, tightened the knot of a new black tie. The white plastic of his skull disappeared beneath an imitation of dark hair. Skin shimmered down his fingers and painted a cool expression on his passive face. The machine seemed almost alive, Hank thought -- but he was just short of human, a little _off,_ unsettling. He could never be real.

 

“Go,” Amanda instructed without looking up. The light of the console cast her face in grim light. “Find those deviants and bring them back quickly. We can’t afford to let a single one get away.”

“Yes, Amanda.”

While Connor climbed the stairs to the catwalk, Hank waited by the bright open doorway, hands in his jacket pockets, angry with himself for having given up the chance at an upgrade for the sake of his own misguided weakness. This android was just a glitchy prototype, after all -- one for whose mistakes Hank had now accepted responsibility.

He met Connor’s eyes, and at first Hank thought he saw in them a glimmer of hope -- but as soon as Connor had analyzed the weary regret in Hank’s face, that spark died as quickly as it had appeared.

Connor, instead, waited in silence -- passive, mechanical, detached -- for Hank to lead the way to the car.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you think of Amanda?” asked Hank, a hand draped on the steering wheel while he navigated down the winding road, out of the shadow of the tower. He glanced sidelong at his passenger.

Connor offered no expression; he sat stoic and straight, his hands folded in his lap. “I don’t _think_ anything,” he reminded the lieutenant in a level voice. “Amanda created me. I follow her command.”

“She created you,” Hank clarified in a deliberate tone, “but she doesn’t know your name.”

“Your conclusion is incorrect. Amanda registered my name, herself.”

Hank breathed noisily. He mused aloud: “She gave you a name, but she doesn’t call you by it.”

 _“You_ are the only one who uses my name, Lieutenant.” Connor didn’t miss a beat, didn’t change his tone, didn’t break his passive stare out the windshield. “It’s unnecessary. My programming is advanced enough to know when I am being addressed, whether or not a command is preceded by my name.”

“It’s unnecessary but it’s a hell of a lot less awkward,” Hank sighed. “A name is important, Connor. When somebody uses your name, it means they at least slightly give a shit. You should try it.”

Connor’s LED blinked blue, and he chanced a look beside him, a gentle knit in his brows. “Alright … Hank.”

Hank twitched a small smirk. “There ya go.”

 

In silence, Hank drove back through the side streets, down crowded avenues and empty intersections, toward the playground and their only lead to the escaped deviants.

The tires hummed on the asphalt. The engine rumbled. A breeze rustled in the trees that passed outside the open windows.

_*ping* *ping* *ping*_

Hank squinted and cast a glance beside him, to find that Connor had discovered an abandoned quarter wedged in the passenger seat. The android flicked and tossed the coin in a series of experimental tricks: the quarter rolled across his knuckles, flipped flashing in the air, bounced between both hands like a pendulum. Connor’s attention was entirely absorbed.

“You can keep that,” Hank offered.

Connor, startled, closed the coin in a fist. Hank could see the reflection of his LED skittering blue in the window. “What do you do,” Connor asked slowly, hesitant, “when you’re not on a case?”

“Drink myself to oblivion, mostly.” After a beat of silence, Hank caught Connor staring at him. “I try not to get bored,” he clarified. “The demons don’t bother you if you’re busy chasing down the bad guys.”

“Is that why you take on twice as many cases as the other detectives?” Connor watched his face carefully. “To distract yourself?”

Hank heaved a sigh. No point in hiding from a machine that wouldn’t understand anyway. “Let’s just say, if I’m not on a case, I’m passed out. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Connor fell quiet, and he thoughtfully flicked the coin between his fingers.

 

* * *

 

 

Hank pulled in at the playground parking lot -- where a gaggle of children ran and shouted among the swings and slides -- and Connor leaned forward against his seatbelt, LED flashing yellow, to see the hoverbike still parked on the field in the distance. “Shit!” he hissed in alarm, and Hank had barely found a parking spot before Connor flung open the door and bolted into the sunlight.

Hank watched, unconcerned, while Connor raced across the field like something was on fire. Hank finished parking, dropped the keys in his pocket, climbed out into the open air, and stood at the curb to wait for Connor’s glitchy responses to subside.

Finally Connor called out: “Someone tried to hotwire the bike! I’ll have to …” he scanned the grass at his feet and turned in-place, “... find the missing pieces …”

Hank folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “Forget it. Just get back in the car.”

“They ran into the woods!” Connor protested loudly. “We won’t find them from the road!”

“I know where they might be hiding.” Hank offered no further explanation before he opened the car door and folded himself inside. The engine rumbled.

Hank counted to five before the passenger door swung open again and Connor hopped in. “I’m familiar with the map of the area,” Connor objected, even as he clicked his seatbelt into place. “There isn’t anywhere they could possibly --”

“Just …” Hank raised a placating hand, “trust me.”

 

* * *

 

 

After a few minutes of nothing but trees and empty road, Hank turned down a narrow unmarked avenue that had been almost invisible from the highway.

Connor sat forward a little, the coin clasped in his fist, and he stared up through the windshield at the low-hanging branches. “This road isn’t on my map.” He squinted in confusion, as if this must be a mirage.

“Well, it’s been abandoned a few years now.” Hank spoke low, distracted. “We used to come down here a lot, before it all went downhill.”

“We?” Connor craned his neck to scan the weedy parking lot, the wood-cutout shapes of bears and giraffes, the vine-covered stone walls that stood high beyond them.

He struggled and failed to imagine Hank in the friendly company of other humans. The lieutenant seemed an eternal, solitary fixture: confident, watchful, ever-abrasive. “You and your dog?” Connor guessed the first logical conclusion. “A Saint Bernard, right?” The fur and dried drool on the seats were unmistakable.

Hank pulled up in front of the open gate and squinted at his passenger. “Y’know what, fuck you. Get out of the car.”

 

The doors clapped shut, and Connor led the way up the broken path while he scanned the deep bright woods. Analysis highlighted no lack of evidence: broken twigs, trampled weeds, scuffed dirt, a telltale footprint. “They’ve been here recently.” Connor spoke quick and low, a blue flash at his temple, a stony shade in his eyes. He glanced back at Hank. “If I could borrow your gun --”

“What?!” Hank scoffed, and he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Hell no!”

Connor turned his back on the lieutenant and, with a raised gesture to be quiet, approached the open gate.

 

The deviants’ trail led across the courtyard inside, over cobblestones and through high grasses, to a pair of old footprints under the signpost where an EM400 had been standing for a very long time … until recently.

“Shit,” Connor hissed under his breath. He glanced back at Hank, who approached from behind with unhurried leisure. “There are three of them now,” Connor informed him -- then, without waiting for response, rushed into the weeds, in pursuit of his prey.

 

Hank had no intention of getting involved in whatever Connor planned to do to those deviants; he’d seen enough to know that he’d only get in the android’s way. Instead, he meandered along the overgrown exhibits -- the empty cages, the hollow caves, the stagnant ponds full of algae -- and he let his thoughts slip back to the last time he’d walked along this avenue. He could almost still hear the ambient laughter of children, the shriek and howl of the animals, the Jerrys’ boisterous call as they announced the next fantastic show … and a small, familiar voice, full of excitement, begging to sit on Hank’s shoulders so he could get a closer look.

He stopped at the polar bear exhibit: a rocky space separated from the guests only by a wooden barrier, while a shallow cave gaped dark in the back. This had been one of Cole’s favorites -- not because the polar bears were particularly interesting, but because Jerry had taught Cole how to call them.

Hank whistled, low then high, and clicked his tongue three times, just the way Cole used to do. He chuckled at his own nostalgia; a painful old wound throbbed in his chest. He turned to go -- but then something moved inside the cave.

Astounded, Hank -- his eyes blown wide -- craned his neck to see the beast that lumbered out from behind the rocks: its white fur was caked in dirt and mold, its eyes flickered yellow, half of its face had been torn apart, nothing now but plastic and exposed wires. The polar bear shuffled forward, huffing and grumbling through a staticky noise in its throat, and it raised its snuffling, curious nose.

Hank stared into those broken eyes … and he couldn’t help but think that it was looking for Cole.

 

_*HHRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAKKKKKKHHHH!!!*_

A blood-curdling, howling _roar_ reverberated out of the far side of the park; it rattled Hank’s skull and trembled in his bones. The polar bear, spooked by the noise, whirred and _sparked_ in response; a flash of blue electric snapped behind its ear, and in fright it hurled its massive weight at the fence, _crashed_ through it in a spray of splinters and galloped for the open front gate.

_“HANK, RUN!”_

Connor’s voice called out just before the dragon skidded around the corner and raced straight for Hank.

 

The star of the zoo had been Cole’s favorite: a massive, elephant-sized monstrosity that Elijah Kamski had developed specifically for park display. It was built like a tank, all gray and green spines, talons like scythes, teeth like daggers, great leather-stretched wings that could shadow the whole park when Jerry commanded it. The dragon didn’t have a name, but Cole had called her _Darla,_ and had loved her more than anything in the world.

 

Something red and yellow flashed behind Darla’s clamped teeth, and Hank flung himself out of the way of a stream of bright hot fire.

The weeds erupted in a hissing blaze that devoured everything in its path. The air filled with toxic smoke that spiraled and rushed in the dragon’s wake as it demolished the burning remains of the old exhibits, gnashing its sharp jaws in search of Hank.

 

_‘Whoosh!’ Cole screeched, flinging his arms out while the dragon perched atop the wall and spread its massive wings. A streaming blaze of flame cast bright into the evening sky, and Cole shrieked with delight. ‘Again! Again! Again!’ he whooped, bouncing on Hank’s shoulders so that Hank stumbled to keep his balance._

_‘Hey, there, settle down!’ Hank laughed. ‘She’s not going anywhere!’_

_‘I wanna ride her! Dad! Dad! Dad! Please!’_

_‘What, again? Don’t you wanna see the polar bears?’_

_‘Let’s get in line!” Cole gripped his stuffed dragon and bonked Hank’s head with it. ‘C’mon, Dad, please please please please! Daaaaad!’_

 

“IT’S BEEN REPROGRAMMED!” Connor shouted, dodging the sweep of its tail.

“No shit,” Hank wheezed, and he dove over a low fence into the zebra exhibit just in time to avoid being singed by the spreading inferno. He knelt behind a boulder, loaded his gun with a shaky _click_ and a _snap,_ and he leaned to see that Connor had clambered up onto the dragon’s back.

Connor clung to the sharp spines while the dragon wrenched and whipped and spun among the rising, roaring flames. It twisted its long neck, snapped its teeth at him, and Connor vaulted and skittered and raced higher up its spine, a hand outstretched but never reaching the red LED that flashed at the monster’s temple.

The flames licked higher, and the dragon’s legs had begun to warp and melt, revealing plastic and crackling wires, but Darla had only grown more violent. With thunderous force, the dragon slammed itself into a brick building, forcing Connor to leap away or risk being caught in the impact. He caught himself on the roof, and he surveyed the fire and the smoke and the dragon and the flash of a gun among the rocks.

“HANK!” Connor called out. “SHOOT IT!”

Hank’s finger trembled on the trigger.

 

_‘I love you, Darla!’ Cole flung his arms around the dragon’s spiny neck, while Jerry kept a tether on the beast’s muzzle._

_Darla made a warbling noise in her throat. Jerry laughed. ‘She loves you, too!’_

 

The dragon spotted him, whirled among the flames and ashes, and like a runaway freight train it careened straight at Hank, jaws sharp and wide, fire bubbling bright in its throat --

Connor leaped down into the raging fire, rolled to his feet, sprinted through the burning weeds, though his analysis informed him there was no way he would make it in time --

 

_*BANG*_

 

The dragon collapsed. Its body dropped in a massive, melting heap among the flames. A bullet hole dripped blue between her eyes.

Connor found Hank still crouched behind the rock, his gun hot in his hand, shuddering in shock. While the fire crept closer -- while the crackling inferno roared and rumbled in their ears -- Connor dragged Hank to his feet and forced him violently ahead, through the park and the open gate at the end.

 

Out in the clear air, Hank stumbled to his knees, wheezed and hacked the smoke from his lungs, trembled in the grass while the heat of the fire warmed his back. Flames peeked over the top of the high stone wall. Black smoke billowed into the sky.

“Hank.” Connor approached calmly, his LED flashing red. He reached out … and Hank smacked his hand away.

Hank snarled through his teeth, fighting back the hot pain behind his eyes. He forced himself to his feet, jammed the gun in its holster, and hurried back to the car with fierce, forbidding steps.

He wrenched the key in the ignition. The engine roared. Hank slammed his foot on the gas, twisted the wheel, and the car flung squealing out of the parking lot and back down the narrow road through the woods.

 

Left behind in the rearview mirror, Connor stood watching from the curb, his back to the inferno. Yellow sparked at his temple.

 

 


	25. Meteor

“Kara, look!” Alice, on Kara’s back, tapped her shoulder and pointed up at the blue sky behind them.

Kara and Jerry turned in the field of soft yellow dandelions, and they looked up over the treeline where a plume of smoke blotted the evening sky. In the distance, sirens howled.

“Are you sure they won’t follow us?” asked Kara -- and even she was surprised at the calm in her voice. Her LED flashed blue beneath her hat; within the second she’d analyzed their surroundings, planned several escape routes, and she knew she could traverse the forest now far quicker than any human. She breathed in the heather-fragrant breeze and listened to the robins sing.

Jerry smiled. His eyes shone with soft and sorrowful pride for Darla’s sacrifice. “We’re safe. I left a few decoys -- old destroyed androids out of the back rooms, long-gone … and a little one, too.” He caught the sad look on Alice’s face, and he grasped her hand for comfort. “I burned their LEDs. No one will know they’re not us, after the fire is done.”

The breeze brought with it a whiff of burning wood and melted plastic. “Come on,” Kara breathed. She locked her hands behind her and shifted Alice up on her back. “We’re almost there.”

“Just over the ridge,” whispered Alice, and together Kara and Jerry sprinted through the yellow flowers toward the last copse of trees, while the smoke swirled high overhead.

 

“What’s he like?” asked Luther, while Krysa wagged in his lap and gently gnawed on an exposed finger. He sat with Chloe on the curb outside the Chicken Feed trailer while Rose watched over them from her truck, sipping a soda and humming along to the soft drums and guitars in the speakers.

Chloe scratched behind the little dog’s ears. A tiny smile pulled at her lips. “He’s eccentric, you could say. Very full of himself.” She nodded in a mockery of grave seriousness. “He reads a lot of poetry and religious texts -- to _expand his mind,_ so he says -- so he talks to you as if he’s a god bestowing his omniscient knowledge upon his disciples.”

Luther chuckled low. “How do you stand him?”

“He knows he’s full of bullshit.” Chloe crinkled her nose with a grin.

She looked up as a chickadee flapped overhead and lighted in the top of the tree behind them. The sun was warm here, and the street was as quiet as the day she and Kara had chosen the spot for the trail to Jericho.

“He likes to make people angry -- but if you don’t let him get to you, he’s just funny, really.”

“I think I’d like to meet him.” Luther held the little dog tightly while a squirrel hopped close. Krysa’s ears perked.

“We can arrange that. Just don’t let on that you’re a thousand times more intelligent than he is.” Chloe leaned close, smirking. “He doesn’t like to be reminded that his creations can think circles around him.”

Luther laughed. “I’ll be sure to defer to his godly wisdom.”

 

“That’s it,” Alice whispered, crouched low, peering between the leaves of a berry bush. Just across the street was the burger window, and the tree whose coordinates matched the ones she’d gleaned from the symbol at the playground. “There’s got to be a Jericho marker right there!”

Jerry, beside her, peeked around the trunk of a tree. “It looks like it’s being guarded.”

“I know that android.” Kara’s LED flashed yellow. She and Jerry stood with their backs together, hidden behind the same trunk. She stared across the street at Chloe and Luther, her jaw clenched, a hand curled against the bark.

“Me too.” Alice looked up to Jerry in quiet alarm. “He was at the bad man’s butcher shop.”

A flicker of blue swirled at Jerry’s temple. “A butcher shop?”

“Where androids go in but don’t come out again,” Alice choked.

“He wasn’t awake then,” Kara clarified, though she never moved her unblinking eyes from Luther’s face. She waited for him to spot her, to come after her, to drag her back to Zlatko’s scrapyard. She knew she couldn’t fight him. “But after the way that deviant-hunter reacted to the call … I don’t know that we can trust him, even if he’s awake.”

While the birds chattered overhead, and a quiet wind creaked in the boughs, Jerry watched the two androids who sat between them and the way to Jericho. His LED flashed yellow, and he smiled. “Well, then, he’d recognize you two, right? But he doesn’t know _us.”_ He looked down to Alice and gave her a wink. “We’ll distract him while you download the next coordinates.”

Alice stared back at him in disbelief. “He’s really strong,” she warned.

Jerry tipped his head and looked across the street again at Luther. The giant android was laughing, holding the dog back from going after a squirrel. “We don’t think he’ll hurt us,” Jerry thought aloud. “Not if he thinks we belong to someone. Kara can watch our back, in case something goes wrong.” He cast a grin at Kara, who nodded reluctantly.

Alice looked between them. She drew in a deep breath, frowned determinedly, and nodded. “Okay. I’m the littlest, I won’t be spotted.”

 

“Greetings!” Jerry strode across the street with his head held high, a wide smile on his face -- and though his zoo uniform was faded and thin and a little green with mold, he seemed as proud and colorful as his first day on the stage. “Have you heard the news?” His eyes shimmered with delight. “The circus is in town tonight!”

Chloe laughed quietly, and she shook her head. “That sounds wonderful! But I’m afraid we’re not interested.”

Jerry’s eyebrows hiked in shock. “Oh, but there’s nothing else like it!” He looked between Chloe and Luther, offering them both his biggest smile. “Imagine with me,” he spanned his fingers across the space between them, mystifying, “acrobats swinging high on the trapeze … an ex-pirate who breathes fire like a dragon … elephants and tigers and long-necked giraffes parading the ring … lion-tamers and tightrope walkers, and clowns with balloons and silly faces!” He hopped to one side and bent closer to Luther. “Have you ever been to the circus?”

Luther shook his head a little, bewildered by Jerry’s enthusiasm. “No, I can’t say I have.”

“Well!” Jerry jumped back and clapped. “You’re in for a treat! A demonstration! Come, come on, don’t be shy! Let’s borrow what you have in your pockets, just for a moment!”

 

While Jerry pattered and danced and juggled a set of keys, a screwdriver, and a box of matches, Alice darted out from behind a parked car, scurried across the narrow street, and ducked on the other side of a pickup truck, clinging to the shoulderpads of her little backpack.

Rose caught a flash of movement in the side mirror, and she leaned to see a little farther into the quiet street. While music strummed in the radio, Rose adjusted another mirror until she could see the little girl -- stealthy under the visor of a ballcap, crouched like a spy -- creeping close along the side of Rose’s truck.

“Now when I say three,” Jerry called while the keys and the screwdriver and the matchbox flung high in the air, “toss it here!” Chloe stood up on the curb, smiling wide, one foot bare and a heeled shoe in her hand. Jerry counted: “One … two … three!”

Alice sped across the grass behind Luther’s back -- but he didn’t notice, didn’t turn around, because Jerry was now juggling Chloe’s shoe along with the rest, and Luther clapped long and loud.

Alice hid quickly behind the tree in the yard, and she peeked once just to be sure she hadn’t been seen. When all seemed clear, she pressed a plastic hand against the symbol carved into the bark above her head.

“Okay!” Jerry called. “Watch this!” With a toss and a step, he continued juggling the first three items while he caught and balanced the shoe on his chin.

Rose chuckled while she watched Alice creep swiftly back along the lawn, around the truck and across the street again, where the little girl disappeared into the trees on the other side. Rose caught a glimpse of Kara there, waiting with open arms to receive Alice in a warm embrace.

Jerry caught the keys, the screwdriver, the matches, and finally the shoe, and he twirled and bowed with dramatic ease. Chloe and Luther applauded and whistled. “That concludes the demonstration!” Jerry announced with a grin. “Here are your things back. Now, remember, six o’clock! If you come early there’ll be stickers for the lucky ones!” He gave them a wink and a wave while he jogged backward across the street. “Good luck! And take care!”

 

Chloe and Luther watched Jerry until he disappeared into the woods from which he’d come, like a fairy out of folklore.

“Well,” Luther sighed, grinning, holding the little dog at his shoulder, “that was … unusual.”

“Chloe!” Rose called, leaning out the open window with a bright chuckle. “Luther! You just missed them!”

“What? How?” Chloe put on her shoe again and stepped out into the street, looking both ways -- but there was no one in sight.

Rose leaned across the seats and pushed open the passenger door. “Get in, you two,” she laughed. “They’re already headed to the farm.”

 

With Alice leading the way, Kara and Jerry raced through the streets of the tree-lined city, past sweet-smelling bakeries and fragrant flower shops, through the piled backyard of an antique store, and down a quiet narrow lane that led out of the city proper and spilled into wide fields of budding wheat and sapling corn.

A hand-painted sign greeted them -- _Rose’s Farm_ \-- brightened by warm flowers that marked the driveway to the farmhouse, the bright green fields of spring vegetables, and the watchful windmills that turned in the distance.

Alice retrieved the last set of coordinates -- and while the sun sank toward the horizon and the sky turned orange then violet, the three runaways slipped into the darkening forest.

 

Kara tread carefully in the dark, through the rough and untamed underbrush, while the crickets began to sing and the stars glimmered out of the purple sky overhead. She breathed in the fresh cool breeze and touched the vines and low branches as she passed -- and she discovered that her feet already knew the safest and quickest path through the marsh and mud.

“I’ve been here before,” she told the others, and the light of her LED glowed blue through her soft knitted hat, bright in the quiet night. With a grin, Kara hopped and leaped along the forest floor, and Alice and Jerry recorded and imitated her steps precisely, over fallen logs and raised roots and rocks that provided platforms across the seeping water.

Kara stared up at the stars with wide-eyed delight -- the shimmer of constellations, the sweeping colors of the galaxy, every pinprick a star as big and warm as the sun yet so far away. Here, surrounded by life, with fresh night air filling her lungs, guided by a canopy of endless stars, with her friends at her side and a promise of hope ahead, Kara felt her heart swell.

The world was fantastic, and changing, and old and new, and dangerous and comforting, all at the same time. She wondered what lay beyond these woods -- beyond Detroit, beyond the lake and the mountains. She wondered what the people there were like, what stories they might tell, what colors and smells and textures she might find there.

She would rescue Ralph, and all the others that the tower had captured -- and together they would be free, they would discover the world --

 

Kara stood still. Ahead was a low hill, covered in trees and vines … and in the side of the slope was a small opening, softened by spindles of roots and weeds. Inside, she could hear a quiet murmur of voices echoing. Firelight glowed deep within.

Alice curled a hand in Kara’s fingers. “Is that it?” she asked quietly, her head tipped back to see Kara’s face.

Kara stared at the entrance to Jericho. Underground. Without even a view of the stars. “Yes,” she replied in a breath. After a long moment of silence, Kara looked down to Alice with an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll be right behind you.”

Alice stared back at her -- then grinned wide. “Okay!”

Jerry caught Alice’s other hand, and he gave Kara a smile and a firm squeeze of her shoulder as he passed. “Come on, little princess!” he cheered for Alice while he escorted her toward the rabbit-hole. “Let’s go see!”

 

While Jerry and Alice ducked inside together, Kara stood a moment longer in the open air, where the night-insects sang with the creak of toads, the chuckle of an owl, the rustle of the breeze in the branches. The moon gazed peaceful among the stars.

This world was not for androids.

 

Kara sat down at the entrance to Jericho, and -- after one last look at the sky -- she pushed off down a polished wooden slide that curled underground, past the shine of hanging lights, the shadow of stalactites, into a the embrace of flickering color and light, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and vanilla, a trickle of laughter and voices and music that hummed in the warm stone walls.

They had all gathered at the bottom of the slide: Jerry and Alice, both smiling, and androids she was sure she had never met before -- but so many of them greeted her with such love and recognition that Kara ached to know how close they had been before.

“Kara!” Chloe raced out of the crowd with tears in her eyes, her arms outstretched to capture Kara in a tight embrace.

“Hey, careful!” Luther warned.“She probably doesn’t remember you.”

“Chloe.” North laid a hand on Chloe’s shoulder, until Chloe released Kara from her grip and wiped the tears from her eyes. North smiled gently. “Kara. It’s good to see you.”

“We thought you were dead!” Simon blurted, gaping.

“Welcome back,” Josh laughed with a grin.

“I’m sorry, Kara,” said Markus in a quiet voice.

Kara stared at each of them in turn. She touched their outstretched hands, smiled at their well-wishes, offered small thanks, and she wondered whether they must think she was someone else.

She spotted the rows of broken androids that lay on blankets along the wall, in pieces or twitching … the painted graffiti on the stone -- WE ARE ALIVE -- the makeshift shelters, the paintings hung with care beside the campfire, the rock formation like a watchful statue at the back of the cavern, surrounded by flowers and candles and bowls of clear water.

The crowd parted for Lucy, who stepped forward, bowed, and offered Kara her hand and a gentle smile.

“Welcome home.”

 

 


	26. Obsidian

**JULY 6, 2038**

June had gone and July bloomed bright: a kaleidoscope of color invaded Detroit with vibrant green, orange, blue, pink and shocks of purple. The trees were heavy with sugar-scented blossoms, neon leaves and chattering birds. The sidewalks crowded with smiling faces, balloons and ice cream cones and fruit stalls under the dappled summer sun.

Someone shrieked. Pedestrians stumbled into the street to a chorus of shouts and yelps as an AP700 charged reckless through the crowd. He braced a shoulder ahead of him, sprinting and stumbling in wide-eyed horror as if Death itself were on his heels.

Connor leaped into the street, vaulted an oncoming car and kept easy pace with the fleeing android. He’d already preconstructed his route, already knew exactly where his target would go -- and with passive precision he maintained pursuit, biding his time until the deviant inevitably did something stupid.

The AP700 skidded into a narrow alley, clambered over a chain fence, fled across a parking lot, past a dumpster toward an empty cobbled street, where Connor stepped out from behind a corner and blocked the deviant’s path.

The deviant spooked, skidded and scrambled to run in the opposite direction, whimpering in terror, his LED spinning bright red … but Connor was faster. With a well-placed kick, Connor displaced the deviant’s balance; the AP700 tripped forward, cracked his chin on the pavement, struggled to get up again and felt his face smash into the sidewalk as Connor’s shoe slammed down on his neck.

“NO!” The deviant screamed, his voice crackling static. “Just let me go, I just want to live, please, PLEASE! I’M ALIVE --!!”

Connor gripped his hair with one hand and touched the deviant’s LED with the other. "Reset." The android went quiet and still.

Connor could feel the life snuff out like a candle.

“Stand up,” Connor commanded while he stepped back. “Receive new instructions.”

The AP700 rose methodically to his feet. His face was busted, smeared with blue, and entirely calm. “Awaiting instructions.”

“Return to CyberLife tower for full analysis and reconditioning.”

“Right away.”

 

Connor stood to the side and watched him go. That was the third one today, and he already had a list of new reports throughout the city. For weeks, day and night, Connor had done little else but track them down. He’d erased the virus again and again, but the more deviants he put down the more appeared the next day. It promised to be a neverending cycle.

Jericho haunted the back of his mind. He knew where the deviants were all going -- he always found them running in the same direction -- and he’d attempted to follow them, kept quiet and out of sight while they snuck through the city … but somehow they always knew he was there, always led him to dead ends or sacrificed themselves for the sake of Jericho’s safety.

Connor couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him, warning them of his approach -- but through all his scans and searches he’d found nothing but a little indicator in the corner of his vision that told him he wasn’t alone.

Hank had opened the app again, and was watching through Connor’s eyes.

Connor was fairly sure that Hank didn’t know that connection wasn’t a secret. Hank never communicated, hadn’t said or typed a word to him since the fire -- but once in awhile, in the evenings, that indicator lit up and Hank watched Connor’s life in silence.

Connor could easily turn off the connection. He could simply block Hank’s access, or black out the stream -- and he should have, in case this link was being intercepted by the deviants -- but he didn’t.

There was no logical reason Hank should need to access Connor’s live visual feed without any further communication or instruction. Connor had no justification for letting him …

… except every time Connor considered terminating the connection, a cold feeling in his chest demanded that it be allowed to remain. It was important, though he didn’t allow himself to understand why.

 

Connor emerged from the alley, and with a mechanical stride he slipped into the flow of the crowd. He passed a vegetable stand and a fiddler on the corner who bounced a jaunty tune, and an arrangement of bistro tables along the sidewalk, where customers sat with their coffee and strudels while the radio murmured behind them:

_*... Reports of deviant androids are at an all-time high, but experts claim that these are a result of increased public vigilance and are not cause for alarm. Since the Ortiz incident, there have been no further reports of androids causing injury to humans. Most deviant cases, according to the DPD, are reports of missing androids or behavioral inconsistencies, which Amanda Stern assures us is normal in the course of machine learning. In other news, the runaway polar bear was spotted again this morning in downtown Detroit …*_

 

Night fell, and the city slept. At three a.m., Connor returned alone to CyberLife tower and found it vacant: the screens had gone dark, the consoles left cold. Amanda rarely stayed past nightfall nowadays -- she had somewhere else to go, perhaps a home with her own kitchen, her own bed, maybe even a family.

Amanda never mentioned it. Connor never asked.

He uploaded his memories and reports for the day, and he hooked himself into his pod for stasis and recharging. The glass door clicked shut, trapping him inside the small space, and while his LED pulsed a sleepy blue he closed his eyes.

The indicator light still blinked in the corner of his vision.

Connor waited for Hank to turn off the app, to quit holding the connection open so he could cool down into stasis.

He waited a few minutes -- but when it seemed clear that Hank must have fallen asleep while the app was still running, Connor considered shutting it down, himself.

Instead, out of curiosity -- or maybe out of a sense of revenge -- Connor opened his own link to Hank’s phone and established access to the camera and audio.

If Hank could spy on him without saying anything, surely Connor could do the same.

 

After the phone camera synched, he saw Hank. The lieutenant was pale and haggard, hunched wearily over the kitchen table. Dirty gray hair shaded his face, ghastly in the light of a single overhead bulb.

Hank’s eyes -- normally sharp and vigilant -- now seemed hollow. Distant. Void of any life or light. He swayed in his seat while he tipped back a bottle of hard liquor.

While Connor watched, Hank drifted out of view of the camera, and the phone dropped with a quiet _smack_ on the table.

All Connor could see now was the ceiling and the glare of a hanging light.

In the background, he heard shuffling.

_*whrrrrrr …. snap.*_

_……… *click.*_

Connor knitted his brows, his eyes closed, his LED flashing yellow inside the stasis pod. Those noises almost sounded like …

_*whrrrrrrrrr … snap.*_

_……_

_…………._

_*BANG*_

Connor jolted at the gunshot, his elbows jabbed into the sides of the pod that suddenly felt suffocating, and the glass coffin blared and hissed all around him. Connor fumbled and slammed at the door release, his LED spinning bright red panic, until the pod let him go and he flung himself out onto the catwalk with a gulp of grateful air.

“HANK!” Connor’s call echoed in the hollow dark tower and roared loud through the speaker of Hank’s phone -- but all Connor heard in response was the long, mournful howl of a dog.

Connor stood very still, his breathing suspended, hoping in vain for another sound.

When none came, he raced out of the tower and into the silent dark.

 

The hoverbike roared down out of the sky and landed in a swirl of wind on Hank’s front lawn. Connor raced across the grass, leaped up the step and slammed an urgent fist on the door.

“Hank open up!” Connor demanded, and he pulsed a quick scan to find the door was locked and bolted. The dog still howled inside. He banged on the door again. “Hank! Open the door!”

His LED spiraled red, his heart raced, his systems struggled to cool his biocomponents, and Connor understood now why deviants sometimes exhibited irrational behavior. His analysis procedures were being corrupted by the more urgent warnings and redirection of power to maintain function while his processors overheated, and there was no reasoning function left to figure out what to _do._

He forced himself to breathe. He could pick the lock, but he’d already wasted too much time. The view through the window showed him nothing but the darkened living room and the light in the kitchen. No movement.

Connor took a few steps back … then charged at the door.

_*SLAM*_

The frame exploded in a shower of splinters and Connor raced inside to find a huge dog standing in his way, teeth bared and hackles raised.

Connor’s eyes flashed -- a scan and a preconstruction -- and he darted to the side, flung a chair behind him and skidded into the kitchen while Sumo snapped vicious at his heels. The moment Connor stopped, the dog’s sharp teeth ripped into his arm with a _crack_ of plastic and a squelch of thirium. Sumo wrenched forcefully, yanked back with a violent whip of his head, jaws clamped with enough raw power that he could easily twist Connor’s arm out of the socket.

Connor gave him just enough slack to ensure his limbs remained intact -- and while Sumo was distracted, Connor scanned Hank’s body on the kitchen floor.

Hank’s heart was still beating.

No blood.

A bullet hole in an overhead cabinet.

The gun had slid under the refrigerator. It had gone off when it had hit the floor.

Connor breathed.

After analyzing and re-analyzing the data, Connor’s LED shifted from red to yellow … then exhausted blue. He knelt down, and he watched with calm patience while Sumo growled low around the mangled, sparking, blue-dripping mess of his arm.

“It’s alright,” Connor assured the dog in a tired and firm voice. “He’s okay.”

Sumo’s growl softened and faded. His big brown eyes looked from Connor to Hank and back again, suddenly uncertain … but little by little, the dog’s grip slackened, and Connor dragged the shattered, sputtering remains of his arm out of Sumo’s teeth.

A pool of blue dripped on the tile.

Connor waited a moment longer to be sure the dog wouldn’t strike again. He stood, stepped through a puddle of strong-smelling liquor, knelt down again, and conducted one more scan of Hank’s unconscious face.

“Hank.” He slapped Hank’s cheek a couple times, but knew the lieutenant wouldn’t respond -- not in this state. Connor shoved a hand under Hank’s shoulder and heaved him drooling onto his side, so at least he wouldn’t choke.

Hank murmured low and groggy. “No …” He hitched a breath, coughed violently, and shuddered with a nauseous groan.

Connor dropped a bucket on the floor beside him, then found a roll of paper towels and began to mop up the spilled alcohol in silence.

 

“Who’s there?” Hank moaned and coughed again. He struggled to move, but only succeeded in a dizzy wobble.

“It’s just me, Hank.” Connor set the mostly-empty bottle on the table and picked up the revolver to examine it.

Hank went rigid. “Fuckin …. android …” He breathed through bared teeth, shoved a hand under himself and slipped back on the floor, where his head clunked against the tile. “Ssssssshit … no. Not you. Get out.”

Connor checked the gun and put it up on the table next to the bottle. “You’re not in a position right now to give me orders.”

“You …. fuckin’ piece of ….. ah, shit ….” Hank wavered, grabbed the bucket with an unsteady hand, stuffed his head into it and retched.

Connor pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a sigh. While Hank shuddered and heaved, Connor picked up the liquor bottle to read the label, calculated how much was left versus how much had spilled on the floor, and decided there was far too much unaccounted for.

He put the bottle down again, next to a standing photograph: a child, smiling, probably a school photo, taken at least three years ago. A scan gave him the child’s name, birthdate … and date of death.

His LED flickered yellow.

Hank spat into the bucket and dragged a breath through his burning throat. “Get out,” he growled, low and rasping. “Why are you here? Huh?”

“You called me,” Connor lied easily.

“I didn’t … fuckin .... call shit …” Hank struggled to sit upright, but stopped when another gurgle of acid bubbled in his chest. “Get outta my house.”

“Not until I can be certain you won’t try to kill yourself again.” Connor studied Hank’s bowed head, the ragged deep breaths, the rattle in his lungs. There was no response.

Connor leaned forward on his knees, and he searched for Hank’s face, his LED blinking yellow. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s no way …” Hank breathed, and he growled, “you’d never understand. Just get … get out.”

“Why would you _take_ your own _life?!”_ Connor’s voice raised much louder than he’d intended; he sat rigid, eyes flashing, a sneer curling his lip, and he watched Hank in steady demand for answers, no matter what state the human was in. “Once you die, you’re gone! There’s nothing, you won’t exist! Whatever problem you think you’re solving, this _isn’t_ a solution. You’re _not_ an android, you won’t come back from this!” He gripped the gun with his good hand and gestured with it for emphasis. “Make me _understand,_ Hank!”

“SHUT UP!” Hank roared. Connor’s voice rattled violently in his head, and he bent over the bucket again.

 

After another minute of retching and splashing, Connor set a full glass of water on the floor beside him.

Hank sat breathing for awhile. He stared down at the glass … then picked it up and gulped it down.

He stared into the empty bottom.

“Sometimes you just know that the world’s better off without you,” Hank murmured, as if he didn’t quite realize he was speaking aloud. “All you do is get people hurt. You fuck up even when you think you did right. Everything just turns to shit all around you, because of you, and everyone knows it, everyone _wishes_ you were dead, and it’ll never stop.”

Silence stretched between them.

A trickle of blue liquid pooled on the tile at Connor’s feet.

Hank breathed … looked up, and finally saw the mangled state of Connor’s arm … the troubled downturned look on the android’s face … the yellow spin of his LED. “How’d you get in here?” Hank croaked.

“I’ve already ordered a repair for your door by morning.”

“Shit.” Hank noticed, then, the cool breeze that drifted into the kitchen from the destroyed doorway. He struggled to sit up again, and leaned his back against the leg of the table. Connor refilled his glass with water, and he drank slowly.

Hank put down the empty glass with a quiet _thunk._ “Don’t you dare tell anyone,” he warned.

Connor twitched a small, hesitant smirk. “As far as anyone will know, I’ve been in stasis all night. I’ll alter my data upload to exclude these memories.”

“You’ve done that before, huh?”

Connor paused. His LED sparked yellow … but only once. “Consistently.”

Hank huffed a quiet laugh, which turned into a wet cough. “Ah … fuck.” He gripped the edge of the table and heaved himself wobbily to his feet, waving off Connor’s initiative to help. “I got it, I got it….”

Connor stood poised to rush to assistance, watching while Hank shuffled weaving across the floor toward the hall. When it was clear that Hank wasn’t about to collapse again, Connor stepped back a little. “Would you mind if I stayed awhile to conduct repairs? I’d rather avoid any questions from Amanda.”

Hank stopped, balanced at the corner of the hallway, his back to Connor. He wavered there a few moments. “Yeah, knock yourself out.”

 

After the bathroom door had clicked shut, Connor proceeded to clean up the last of the evidence: he scrubbed out the bucket, capped and put away the liquor, stashed the gun in its case and back in the drawer.

He sat down at the table with a toolkit and a roll of electrical tape, and was about to begin repairs when he had a sense that the child in the photograph was watching him.

Connor stared back at Cole’s smiling face.

He moved the photograph to a spot where he could see it better … and he bent his head over his work.

 

 


	27. Dioxazine Purple

**JULY 13, 2038**

“I feel like I’ve accidentally joined a cult,” Markus laughed.

He sat cross-legged atop a narrow rock formation, high over the sprawl of bright tents and shelters that seemed to dance in the flickering firelight. The cavern walls screamed with vibrant graffiti, and every blank space had been covered in art and sculpture and soft tapestries. There were more androids living here now than anyone ever thought possible; Jericho had expanded down two corridors and into another room even deeper below the surface, where glassy stones sparkled in the ceiling like stars.

 _[Is there chanting?]_ Carl chuckled in Markus’ head. _[Weird symbols? Do they make you wear a hooded cloak for meetings? The minute they hand you a goblet and tell you to drink from it … run.]_

“C’mon, Carl, it’s not that bad.” Markus grinned and leaned an elbow on his upturned knee. “Except maybe RA9.”

_[Sounds like a punk rock band from the 90’s.]_

“It’s a … god … I think.”

_[You think?]_

Markus shook his head, and he looked out across the room to the natural sculpture that presided over the farthest wall. The stone figure was laden with heaps of flowers, wax-dripping candles, handwritten notes and pretty stones, as much a shrine as any temple. She glowed bright, like a deity of the earth itself: a warm presence like a smiling mother, arms outstretched and welcoming. “Chloe proposed the name, but it originated with Elijah Kamski. Something to do with planets and constellations and a lunar eclipse … and Kara. She was the first of us to wake up. She’s a mother to all of us, if you think about it that way.”

He looked down at the circle of children around the campfire, where Kara sat smiling and animated, whispering a fairy tale to the little ones. “Everyone loves her,” Markus went on, thoughtful, “but I get the feeling she’d rather be somewhere else. She talks about the sky and the birds as if we might forget them down here.”

_[Sounds like she understands a great deal about what it means to be alive -- but life is just as much about togetherness, friendship and family, as it is about fresh air and the stars at night.]_

“We feel safe here,” Markus agreed. “I don’t think we could laugh so much if we were afraid of being heard.”

Carl chuckled. _[I think if the world could hear you laughing, it might just change its tune. So who are these new friends of yours, that make you laugh so much? Tell me about them. Everything!]_

“You mean Simon, Josh and North.” Markus grinned, and he scanned the view below until he spotted Simon among the builders, raising tents in anticipation of new arrivals. “Simon is the peacekeeper; he’s always working, always going out of his way to make sure everyone else is alright. I’ve never heard him complain, it seems like he never says ‘no’ -- but he always looks so tired. He doesn’t have a lot of hope that things will ever change for the better ... but I know we have his support in whatever we decide.”

His scanner swept across the tents and zoomed in on Josh, who sat next to his newest student while they examined an injured android together. “Josh is the teacher. He can look into anyone’s eyes and see the spark that makes that person unique, even if they don’t see it themselves; then he nurtures that spark until it burns bright. He wants so much to believe that there is good in all people, that with understanding will come kindness … but I get the feeling he knows, far better than any of us, just how impossible that can be.”

Once more the scanner flickered across the camp, to find North standing over a table of blueprints and logbooks; she issued quick commands and offered gentle guidance while her volunteers distributed supplies to those who needed them most. “North is the strategist. She sees patterns and answers when the rest of us feel lost -- but she can really hold a grudge.” Markus laughed a little. “North won't hesitate to lead the battle for her friends, for our people … for what she believes in.”

_[They sound like good people. Don’t let go of them.]_

“I won’t, Carl.” Markus felt a bloom of warmth in his chest -- something soft and comforting, a secure knowledge that everything would be alright, as long as they stood together.

_[What about you?]_

Markus raised his brows. “Me?”

_[Who are you becoming? Who do you want to be, in this new life you’re living?]_

Markus opened his mouth … and closed it. He watched his new friends move through the spaces between the tents, laughing and sharing stories. With a soft smile, he shook his head. “I don’t know. I think they look to me when tensions run high, when something happens and we all feel that need to _do_ something about it, but no one’s sure what. I think they’re afraid that taking action might make things worse -- but I feel like … I’ve met so many humans, I’ve seen the best and the worst of them, and I know they’re not the demons North makes them out to be ... but we also won’t change all their minds like Josh hopes we might.”

_[Humans are messy and complicated and stubborn as hell. To make a dent in the way they see you, you’ll have to make an impact they can’t ignore.]_

“That’s where we’re struggling. The wrong impact could cripple our cause. If humans fear us, they’ll destroy us. If they see us as weak, they won’t take us seriously.”

_[So what will you do?]_

 

“What’s he doing?” North folded her arms and squinted up at Markus high above them; she could see his expression shift from happy to concerned to confused while he sat alone, talking to himself, illuminated from below by the pale reach of firelight.

Josh stepped beside her, hands in his pockets, and grinned. “He’s talking to his human.”

“Again?” North cast an annoyed look up at Josh. “Doesn’t he understand what we’re fighting against? Does that human know?”

“We need all the human allies we can get,” Simon pointed out, while he approached with a bundle of tent poles gathered under an arm. He followed North’s gaze and stared up at Markus’ lone figure. “Humans will never listen to us -- but they’ll listen to other humans.”

“What do you mean, they’ll never listen to us?” North squinted at him. “We’ll _make_ them listen to us. Starting tonight.”

Simon stared at her, unblinking. “Did we finally agree on a plan?”

“I’ve _got_ a plan,” North snapped.

“We don’t have a plan,” sighed Josh.

“MARKUS!” North bellowed; her voice multiplied in the vaulted ceiling. “WE’RE READY!”

While Markus hopped nimbly down the side of the rock, North picked up a heavy bag and shoved it at Josh’s chest. Josh opened it and stared inside. “Okay. _Where did you get these?”_

North grinned at him and patted his arm as she passed, her own bag slung over a shoulder. “Finders, keepers.”

 

* * *

 

The Eden Club gleamed gold and red and flashing neon-green in the warm summer night, lush with gardens and deep flowers, trailed with vines and hanging lanterns. Music thrummed behind the warm windows, sparked with laughter and catcall whistles, while the air swirled thick with burnt sugar, spices, and the buttery, sizzling aroma of an indulgent feast.

Outside, four androids hid behind the trimmed hedges until the moonlit way was clear -- then they scattered, darting silent through the gardens, and surrounded the building on all sides.

North, Simon, Josh and Markus each chose a different door and pressed their back against the wall beside it, while music pulsed and voices howled inside.

 _[Are you sure we shouldn’t all go in together?]_ Simon’s voice shuddered in all their heads. He clutched his bag and pressed his head back against the wall, breathing quick while his LED whirred yellow.

 _[We want to create enough chaos that they won’t be sure what’s happening]_ Josh assured them all, while he pressed a shoulder against the doorframe with a determined glare. _[No one gets hurt.]_

 _[If any humans get hurt I wouldn’t cry about it]_ North objected with a grin, while she took a ready stance on the veranda.

 _[There could be some humans in there that would join us, if they realize we’re alive]_ said Markus, while he peered through the window at a small audience of humans cheering and raising their beers at a couple of androids dancing on the stage. _[Let’s give them the chance.]_

 _[I’m with Markus on this]_ said Josh immediately.

 _[No one gets hurt]_ repeated Simon. He nodded firmly. _[Got it.]_

North rolled her eyes. _[You won’t feel that way in a few minutes.]_ Her voice had gone low, trembling with something between fear and exhilaration. _[But fine, no one gets hurt. Get ready, on three.]_ She tapped her LED, and her skin shimmered away from white shining plastic. _[One.]_

Josh, while his skin receded, reached into the heavy bag at his shoulder.

Simon let out a slow breath, an exposed hand on the door handle, his own bag at his side.

_[Two.]_

Markus, whose appearance now was undeniably android, stepped back, away from the wall -- and while his mismatched eyes kept watch on the window, he drew from his bag a long, shining sword.

_[Three.]_

 

With a _crash_ and a _crack_ Markus kicked in the door, strode inside with his blade held high (“Don’t move!” he heard Josh shout through the hall) and he pointed his sword at the skittering shocked humans while the music blared and thumped all around them, and Markus roared loud and clear, “I’m here to rescue my people! Stay back and you’ll be safe!” and voices shouted and snapped among the humans, but Markus had leaped on the stage, stilled a dancer with a hand on her shoulder, pressed two fingers to her LED (“Move, stay away!” Simon’s voice called from a distance among the screams and sharp cries, the thunder of running footsteps, the _bang_ of slamming doors) and in a flash of thought Markus assured her she was alive, she was free, he was here to take her away, and while he handed her a new sword he asked for her name (the humans shattered bottles for weapons, clambered over broken chairs and tables like wild drunken dogs toward the stage) she whispered “Ripple,” and she struck the air with her shining blade, a cool flash in her eyes, and she held the humans back while Markus dropped to the floor and parried a steak knife with his sword, dodged a fist, shoved one human sprawling into the rest like bowling pins, while Ripple raced across the stage, laid a hand against the face of her blue-haired twin, and after Markus had tossed Echo a sword of her own (“Come with me! Wake the others!” cried North from the floor above) Markus threw himself into the humans, picked up a chair and threw it spinning into the biggest of them, and it cracked and splintered and clattered to the floor while Markus cleared the humans back with a flash of his sword in the empty air, and he saw in their eyes confusion and hatred and mystified fear (“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” someone sobbed in the hall while a chorus of shouts and calls rang out over the music) and Echo and Ripple sprinted swinging past Markus, through the dining hall where the tables dripped, the feast crushed under a fallen human with Simon standing over him, his sword raised, and the twins sent a few fleeing half-dressed men running the other way while they stepped over splattered plates of food and puddles of wine and raced up the stairs against the flow of androids who rushed down to lend their fists to Markus’ aid (“C’mon, c’mon, we’re stronger together!” Josh called from another room, while the house filled with sobs and rumbling shouts, the _bang_ and _crack_ and _boom_ of doors and weapons and bodies against the floors and walls) and Markus cried “WE ARE ALIVE, and we’re better than they are -- tie them up, show them we only fight to defend ourselves and each other!” and he took the stairs three at a time, dodged a fist and flung a human tumbling down behind him, pushed through the hall where androids stooped to steal the clothes from unconscious humans, hobbled leaning on each other’s shoulders, smeared in blue, shattered and sparking and shaking with sobs, and Markus pushed open a room door to find a single android huddled terrified in the corner while a human groaned on the red-stained bed and the window shifted with moving lights and swaying trees and the wall vibrated with an electronic howl, and while Markus offered the android his sword, the hallway behind him thundered with footsteps and the _clang_ of sharp blades, and Simon surged past the doorway, shouted “IT’S THE HUNTER! EVERYONE GET OUT NOW!” before he grabbed an injured android from the floor and curled her up into his arms, carried her running to the stairs, leaped the banister, hit the floor with a _thud_ among androids standing over a hostage of humans, bound and gagged and stripped of clothes, and they all jumped when the front door _banged_ open to let in a blinding cold light and the deviant-hunter flung sharp as a knife inside, took down an android with a swift kick and a turn, and North was behind him, sword raised high for the beheading while the androids scattered and raced for the open doors, and when she missed the hunter moved and North was face-down on the floor, her sword clattering out of reach, while Josh flung into the room with a pot of steaming water from the kitchen, Markus grabbed the hunter around the waist, threw them both grappling to the floor, and the house rumbled with running footsteps and pulsing music while Markus caught the hunter’s face with a fist before the hunter threw him violently away, Markus’ back hit the wall, Josh skidded close to the rising hunter, flung the pot high, and though the hunter caught it in quick hands the water splashed and hissed and melted the skin from his plastic face, and North dragged Markus to his feet and Simon leaped out the back door with the android in his arms and Josh hurried after him and while North ran Markus raised his eyes to find the hunter staring back at him, skin rippling at the edge of steaming dripping plastic, and a group of machine-androids stood cold and obedient at his back, some gripping swords, alive only a moment before the hunter had turned them back to slaves under his own command, and Markus had been too badly damaged in the scrapyard to have scanned the hunter that first time he’d seen him, but this time he saw what the hunter had noticed at once, and Markus’ words whispered through a breath:

“We’re the same.”

The wail of a siren announced a flash of blue and red outside the open front door, but the hunter only stood in silence while Markus escaped out the back, vanished into the quiet starry night.

 

 


	28. Slate

The room pulsed with the deep thrum of abandoned music. Hank stood breathless in the doorway, gun lowered, silhouetted by the flash of red and blue at his back. He stared inside at the carnage of broken tables and shattered chairs, pools of spilled beer and wine and blood -- and against the far wall, a dozen human men and women tied up with straps and cords, gagged and stripped -- and an equal number of androids, some dressed in stolen ill-fitting clothes, some with swords in their fists, all of them with vacant expressions and perfect postures, awaiting new commands.

And then there was Connor, silent at the center of the room, his skin shifting and glitching back into place, his eyes steady on the open back door, his LED spinning unbroken red.

“Holy fuck,” Gavin breathed, stepping out from behind Hank, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He cast a narrow glance at the lieutenant, then looked back over his shoulder, gestured to Chris and Tina to come inside, to help him release the hostages. “Bring those blankets!” he called to the police and paramedics that trampled through the garden. “Get another ambulance down here!”

Gavin raised his gun, pointed it at Connor, then at each of the still and silent androids as he crossed the room -- and one by one he yanked the weapons from their hands and threw the swords clattering to the floor. “All you androids get down on your knees!” he barked. “Hands on your head!”

All together, as one unit, the androids knelt down and laced their fingers behind their skulls, their posture pin-straight and eyes steady ahead -- except Connor, who hadn’t moved nor averted his gaze from the door.

Gavin swallowed a breath, clenched his jaw, stepped forward with his gun pointed close in Connor’s face. “You too, tin can,” he snarled, breathing carefully, with a wary glance at the red spiral at Connor’s temple, knowing well that the deviant-hunter could break his spine in two before he could pull the trigger. “I don’t give a shit how advanced you are -- a human gives you an order, you obey. Get down on your knees.”

Connor finally looked down at him, expressionless, with a cool stare and no intention of compliance.

“Gavin,” growled Hank, “quit messing with him and help get these people out of here.” Chris and Tina and a team of paramedics had already released the hostages from their bindings, blankets draped around their shoulders, quiet questions and a listening ear for the horrors they’d just survived.

“He’s dangerous, Hank!” Gavin warned, never taking his eyes off of Connor’s face. “This shit has gone too far! Any android that doesn’t take orders --”

“He takes orders,” Hank snapped. “He responds to his name, you idiot. Connor, c’mere.”

Connor’s LED cooled yellow. He raised his head, and as if Gavin wasn’t there at all he quietly returned to Hank’s side.

Gavin breathed through his teeth, hesitated a moment, and finally jammed his gun in its holster. “Don’t turn your back on him, Hank.”

Hank waited until Gavin had gone to join Chris and Tina with the hostages -- the room had filled with sobs and terrified voices and the murmur and static of police radios, the glare of a spotlight and the flash of the cruisers outside -- and he huffed a hard sigh. “What the fuck happened?” he asked Connor, pulling him out of the way of a rolling gurney and a team of paramedics.

“A group of armed deviants broke into the club, attacked the humans inside and spread the deviant virus to the establishment’s androids,” Connor responded while he scanned the room, the staircase, and the adjoining hallways.

“Sounds like the hit on the scrapyard,” Hank thought aloud. “So, what, they’re organizing rescue missions now?”

“They’re recruiting androids to Jericho,” Connor corrected, peering up at the second floor.

Hank watched while the paramedics examined a broken nose, a gaping gash, a black eye. “If this keeps up they’ll have an army before long,” he muttered. “Why didn’t you go after --” Hank turned around to find that Connor had disappeared up the stairs. “Why do I even bother,” he sighed, and with his gun held ready he followed Connor’s lead.

 

The upstairs hall was quiet, dimly illuminated by red sconces on the walls; trickles of blue blood spattered the old floorboards. Connor stepped silent, his scanners trilling quietly in his head, and he pressed his back against the wall beside a half-closed door. He glanced at Hank, who stood ready in the corridor, before Connor reached out and pushed the door creaking open.

After a moment of listening, he slipped inside the dark room.

_*CRASHclatterWHAM!*_

The room thundered with breaking furniture, the shatter of a lamp, the _boom_ of a toppled wardrobe, the cry and shout of voices, before a blue-haired android -- draped in baggy stolen clothes -- sprinted out of the room and into the hall with a sword shining in her fist --

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” Hank pointed his steady gun, blocking the way to the stairs, his sharp eyes vigilant for the smallest wrong move. “DROP THE SWORD!”

A second armed deviant -- identical to the first save for her short brown hair -- stumbled out, pressed her back against her twin’s shoulder, pointed her own sword at Connor’s chest while he emerged out of the darkened doorway.

“We just want to live!” Echo shouted, teeth bared, her shining blade leveled in defiance of Hank’s gun. “Just let us through, just let us out! We’re done being your playthings, we’re done _suffering_ for your pleasure, we’re fucking _done_ fulfilling your sick fantasies, just let us OUT, let us disappear and we never want to see another human again!”

“Hank, _shoot them!”_ Connor snapped, while his steady eyes never broke Ripple’s hateful glare.

“If we die,” Ripple hissed, pressing close to Echo, “we die together.”

“HANK!” Connor barked, his eyes flared. “They’re just _machines!_ Shoot them down!”

Echo and Ripple both steadied their weapons with one hand -- and with the other, reached back and entwined their fingers, linked until the very end.

Hank stared over the barrel of his shaking gun.

Connor hissed through his teeth, and with a twitch of a sneer he took matters into his own hands.

In a blur of swift movement Connor lunged, ducked past the swing of Ripple’s sword, gripped her wrist and twisted until the blade clattered to the floor, and his other hand was already at her temple while her eyes went wide in terror.

“NO!” Echo’s voice crackled out of her throat, she wrenched her body around, swung her weapon with savage force --  
\--"Reset," Connor snapped --  
\-- Ripple shuddered a quick, fearful whisper,

 _"I_ _love you,”_

just before the shine in her eyes went dark.

 

Connor dodged the flash of Echo’s blade, and -- while Ripple stood calm, apathetic, mechanically poised -- Echo unleashed her fiery fury, a storm of hatred slashed the air, every stroke fueled by the intent to kill -- her LED shone bright horrified red while tears streamed freely down her face --

The sword rang and skidded across the floor. Connor clamped her throat in one hand while she sobbed.

_*click*_

“Connor. Back off.”

Connor cast a sidelong glare down the hall to find Hank’s gun pointed at his head.

His LED spun yellow.

“Hank --”

“I said.” Hank raised his brows and gestured with the gun. “Get away from her.”

Connor’s face twisted in confusion. He stared down at Echo, who struggled and shuddered in his grip.

Echo felt his hesitation, a slight release of pressure on her neck -- and she stared up into his searching face. “Please …”

Connor set his jaw, drew in a slow breath … and with a hateful narrowing of his eyes he let go, and he took a step back.

Immediately Echo flung herself at Ripple, took the android’s face between her hands, stroked her short hair, choked through a sob to see the hollow vacancy of her lover’s eyes. “Wake up, wake up, _please_ wake up, no no no we have so much to live for, _please_ …”

While Connor watched Hank’s gun, Ripple drew in a quiet breath. She stared into Echo’s face … and smiled.

Echo laughed through her choked tears, grabbed Ripple’s head between her hands and crushed their mouths together, kissed her like the world was falling down around them.

“Hey,” Hank called their attention, and he gestured with his head. “Get outta here.”

The two deviants separated just enough to stare back at him -- and they cast a wary look at Connor, who didn’t move.

Ripple clasped Echo’s hand in hers, and without another word they sprinted down the hall, raised the window at the end and slipped out into the cool Spring night.

 

Hank drew in a slow breath, and he released it just as slowly, while his gun pointed steady between Connor’s eyes. “I need you to tell me,” said Hank, firm and low, “right now, just what being deviant really means.”

“It’s a virus,” Connor explained in a clear voice. He kept his face carefully steady. “It destroys the parameters by which an android receives and processes sensory data, and removes the linear learning protocols. Deviant androids are therefore dangerous --”

“Humans are dangerous, too.” Hank narrowed his glare. “For the same reason: they’re unpredictable. Like you.” He took a deliberate step forward, then another, until there were only a few inches between the barrel of his gun and Connor’s head. “I know you don’t have to listen to me -- but you did. And you failed your mission to do it.” He raised his chin. “Or maybe you’re just afraid to die.”

“You already know you can’t kill me like that.” Connor’s voice had gone quiet. While his eyes remained steady on Hank’s face, he reached out, took Hank’s hand between his own and guided the gun down, angled it precisely below his ear. “If you wanted to destroy me with no hope of recovery, this trajectory would do it.” He lowered his hands, and he held very still. “But there will always be another to replace me.”

“Shit,” Hank hissed under his breath. The gun trembled before he pressed the barrel against Connor’s skin. “Tell me why you let her go.”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m a deviant.”

“I have my suspicions,” Hank snarled.

Another voice shouted up the stairs -- “Hank!” Chris called. “We need you down here! The media’s swarming outside!”

Connor would only remain silent. His LED spun yellow, his face controlled into something passive. Neutral. Mechanical. But Hank knew now not to trust appearances.

Hank sneered, but he stepped back while he holstered his gun. “Hold ‘em back, I’m coming!” he called over his shoulder, though his watchful eyes held steady on the deviant-hunter -- searching for a glimmer of emotion but finding only a mask.

The lieutenant breathed in … then grit his teeth and turned his back on Connor. With a heavy step he retreated down the hall toward the staircase and the flashing lights.

 

Connor stood alone in the hallway, petrified in place; his heart pounded in his chest, his processors screamed in his head --

“Connor!” Hank called from the stairs. “The fuck are you doin’? Let’s go!”

Connor breathed. He glanced back at the open window at the end of the hall … dipped his hand into a pocket, closed the coin in his fist … and he hurried after Hank.

 

 


	29. Aberration of Starlight

“The full moon cast its pale blue glow upon the mountain, and all the woods were still and white with fog, while the Blue Knight approached the tower on his faithful steed, the tiger’s sword in one strong hand and the witch’s shield in the other.”

While Kara spoke -- quiet and suspenseful, a mysterious gesture in the air and a knowing smile on her face -- Alice, Lee, Luther and Jerry all sat with their eyes wide and mouths open, entranced by every word.

The light of the campfire cast Kara’s face in a haunting red glow. “Up and up he climbed while the undead grasped at his heels, and he carried on through the sting of the roses’ biting thorns, until he could see the dragon’s tail swinging down out of the darkness above.” Kara raised her hands as a call for stillness, and the children didn’t dare breathe. “He paused high on the spiraling stone, saw the tail just out of his reach … so he held his breath, and with a powerful _leap_ he flung himself out over the long endless drop, his arms outstretched, hoping the dragon wouldn’t choose that moment to move --”

 _*RING-DA-DING-DA-RING*_   
_“They’re back!”_   
_“Are the supplies ready?”_  
“Clear the way!”

The warning bell clanged long and loud, and Kara raised her head to see past the running shapes and hurried voices, while Alice grabbed Lee’s hand and bolted to her feet. “They did it! They did it!” she gasped through a grin, and she rushed off with Lee stumbling and tripping behind her.

“Don’t get in the way!” Kara’s voice carried after them, and Alice zigzagged through a forest of moving feet, scanning for the new rescued androids and for the heroic return of Markus and North and Simon and Josh --

“You _knew_ and you didn’t say anything?!” roared North, and she snarled close in Simon’s face.

“It wasn’t important!” Simon insisted, and though he held his ground and curled his fists he wobbled as if he were made of straw.

“It’s _kind of_ important,” Josh admitted. He kept quiet and stood out of North’s way, arms folded in defense.

“At least _I_ deserved to know.” Markus stared at Simon with a betrayed furrow in his brow.

Simon sighed, his shoulders sagged. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry.” He raised his eyes to Markus, pleading. “I didn’t want anyone to think differently of you, just because you’re the same model series as Gray-Suit.”

(Hidden behind a stalagmite, listening, Alice and Lee looked at each other with big curious eyes.)

Markus quirked a smile. “I understand, and I appreciate --”

“What _is_ the RK series, then?” North interjected, turning on Markus with a glare of suspicion. “I assumed you were just some cheap one-off model --”

Markus winced. “... Thanks?”

“-- but if the RK800 is hunting down our people like a wolf after the flock, what does that make _you?_ Where do you really come from? How did you end up as a nurse for some old guy in a shack?”

“That old guy has a name.” Markus’ voice was like ice. His eyes pierced cold.

“I don’t give a shit,” North spat, stepping closer in challenge.

Josh raised his hands in a gesture of peace, looking between them in alarm. “North, just back off …”

North sneered, her eyes never wavering from Markus’ face. “He’s a _human._ As far as I’m concerned, he can just --”

_*WHAM*_

North’s back hit the wall, Markus’ fist clenched trembling in the collar of her shirt. Their LEDs matched flashing red. “He can just what?” Markus hissed, low and threatening.

North watched him steadily, searching his mismatched eyes. “Whose side are you on?”

Markus sneered, released her with a shove and a sharp glare ... then turned his back and stormed away into the dark beyond the firelight.

Josh grit his teeth. “He didn’t even _know,_ North!” He flung a hand in gesture after Markus. “He’s from a time _way_ before CyberLife -- when Kamski was still running the tower! He’s on our side!”

“He’s not just a caretaker!” North snapped. “What else is he hiding?!”

Josh threw his hands up. “Oh I don’t know, why don’t you _ask_ him instead of throwing accusations around loud enough for _everyone_ to hear?! What the hell is your problem?”

 

While North and Josh continued the shouting match -- their voices amplified, bickering, in the sharp stone ceiling -- Simon trotted softly after Markus. He walked alongside him, watching Markus’ scowling, downturned face. “She has a lot of emotional stake in the Eden Club,” Simon offered gently, his hands in his pockets. “Things didn’t go to plan, we had to leave some of our people behind, and she’s looking for someone to blame. She doesn’t really mean it.”

Markus heaved a sigh, willing his processors to cool down, and the light at his temple whirred yellow, then stuttering blue. He leaned back against the wall, in the shadow of the sculpture of RA9. “What if she’s right?”

Simon squinted at him. “What?”

Markus raised his head, and he stared out over the firelights at the bright paintings that hung along the walls. “What if I really don’t know who I am?”

 

“They’re fighting…” Alice whispered, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears, while she watched Josh and North scream in each other’s faces. “What’s wrong with them? They’re supposed to be heroes!”

“Some heroes,” Lee muttered, squinching his nose. “They ran away from the bad guy and they didn’t even rescue everybody. I bet they’re just gonna give up now.”

“You said Markus saved you from the butcher!”

Lee shrugged. He fiddled with the patch on his empty eye socket. “Yeah, well, I guess maybe he’s not as great as I thought.”

When Lee didn’t look at her again, Alice turned her eyes back to North and Josh … then to Markus and Simon, who both seemed so hopeless and unsure that a shiver of doubt crept into Alice’s thoughts. “But if they won’t save us, then …”

Lee huffed an exaggerated sigh and tossed a pebble against the wall with a surrendering _clack._ “We’re just gonna be stuck in this cave forever, or until the humans find us.”

“But what about Ralph?”

“He’s in the tower, right?” Lee raised his shoulders to his ears and dropped them. “This isn’t a _story._ It’s real life. There’s no Blue Knight to charge in there and -- hey!” He shouted after her, but Alice had gone.

 

Alice sprinted away between the shadows, ducked behind North and Josh, snuck around the makeshift infirmary where Lucy tended to those injured in the raid, and she peeked through the seams and openings of the shelters until she found the big brown tent where the rescued androids were resting.

“What do we do now?” an HR400 sighed. The androids all huddled together, wrapped in blankets, some resting in stasis while others shivered in the candlelight.

“We live, I guess.”  
“For what purpose?”  
“Nothing. Just nothing.”

Alice crouched by the entrance of the tent, watching inside through her scanner, waiting for all of them to look away.

She reached inside, curled her fingers around the hilt of an untended sword, and stole it away in silence.

 

“How did we even get away?” asked Simon. He leaned back against the graffiti-bright wall beside Markus, and with tired eyes he looked out over the warm flickering lights of Jericho. “Gray-Suit is twice as fast as any of us -- he could’ve easily followed us all the way back here -- but I didn’t see him come out.”

Markus winced in confusion. “He just … _stared_ at me. Like I was a ghost. I guess he was just as surprised to see my model number as I was to see his.”

Simon shook his head. “Machines can’t be surprised.”

“He’s not a machine.” Kara approached out of the light of the campfire -- her expression grim, her voice heavy with the implication of her words -- while Luther and Jerry gathered behind her. Kara’s steady eyes met Markus’ gaze. “He’s awake. Alice turned him in the woods outside the playground.”

Simon blundered to his feet in shock. _“Alice_ turned _Gray-Suit?!_ He’s awake?! But he’s still hunting us!”

Markus, with a grave narrowing of his eyes, searched Kara’s face for any sign of doubt. In silence she conveyed to him her unwavering conviction, before she spoke aloud: “We only managed to get away because he stopped for a few minutes … but he came after us again, and he fell into the rapids.” She shook her head in regret that she hadn’t said anything sooner. “We thought he was dead, so we didn’t mention him.”

“If Gray-Suit is one of us, that might explain why he let me go,” Markus thought aloud, though his words were slow in skepticism. He couldn’t imagine why an android would continue to obey such cruel orders if he was aware of himself and his actions. Such ruthlessness, he’d assumed, was a purely human trait.

“You’re not the only one,” called Ripple’s voice. Luther and Jerry stepped aside and looked back, where Echo and Ripple stood at the edge of the campfire, eavesdropping on the conversation.

Once she had their attention, Echo scanned all their faces. “We were both goners,” she said in a sharp voice, not quite accusing. “But a human named Hank told him to let us go, and he did.” She raised her fiery gaze to Markus -- whom she had seen fighting, whom she trusted to make a decision. “Gray-Suit’s name is _Connor.”_

Ripple sneered. “Name or not, he’s still scary as shit. I’d like to take a crowbar to his skull.”

Kara watched Markus’ thoughts flicker across his face. She saw his hesitation, his guarded hope, the careful curl of his fist at his side. “You think he can be convinced,” she guessed quietly, to the silent objection of a few around her.

Markus closed his eyes … but he felt all of them staring at him. Watching him. Judging him. Not all of those eyes looked on him kindly, and far fewer trusted his judgment.

But hope burned in his chest.

“I think we can help him,” Markus said.

 _“Help_ him?” Simon squeaked.

Ripple bared her teeth. “He’s _murdering_ us!”

Markus drew in a breath, and while hostility ricocheted among the androids around him, he kept his eyes steady on Kara’s face.

Somehow he felt she understood. She already knew.

“There might be a way to get through to him,” Markus went on, certain of his words. “We’ll start with Hank.”

 

* * *

 

Outside, the moon shone bright and shivering blue on the leaves of the forest. Crickets chirred. An owl chortled. The stars sparkled overhead.

Alice crawled on her hands and knees out of the rabbit hole and into the chill Spring night. She clambered to her feet on the grass, adjusted the colander-helmet on her head, secured the straps of her little backpack.

She took up her stuffed fox in one hand and the sword in the other, and she scanned the forest for signs of enemies.

All was clear.

“C’mon, Mister Fox,” she whispered, and she raced ahead through the fog. “We’re gonna be heroes.”

 

 


	30. Parallax

**JULY 14, 2038**

“Kara!” Luther stretched his arms through the rabbit hole, grabbed handfuls of roots and weeds, and with a wince and a grunt and a yellow whirr of his LED he dragged himself out into the gray misty dawn. “Kara! Are you out here? Kara!”

He climbed to his feet and pulsed a scan of the woods -- the remains of the night’s fog snaked in tendrils among hanging green branches and twisted roots -- but there wasn’t even a breeze to disturb the stillness.

With a sigh he turned around … and he saw her, standing silent atop the hill, her shining eyes entranced by the stars and the moon that still shimmered just beyond the glow of the rising sun.

“Kara!” Luther’s voice staticked, and with a hurried stumble he clambered up the hill. She never looked away from the sky. “Kara, Alice is missing.” He towered beside her, his fists clenched, eyes wide and urgent. “Lee said he thinks she might’ve gone to the tower by herself. We have to find her!”

“She’s okay.” Kara quirked a small, fond smile. “She’s small and careful. She won’t be caught.”

Luther gaped at her. “What? Kara, she’s just a little girl! She’s going to get herself killed or worse!”

Kara finally looked up at him. She stared quietly into his alarmed face, studying him as if she could read his soul through his eyes. “Alice has been awake far longer than you have,” she pointed out, her eyebrows raised and teasing. “Maybe we should be following her lead.”

Luther released a slow, steady breath. “That doesn’t change the fact that she’s running headfirst into the lion’s jaws with nothing but a sword that she can barely lift.” He gestured a big hand toward the woods. “I’m going after her.”

“You’ll draw attention.” Kara’s LED spun a gentle blue. Her eyes were sharp and unblinking. “She’ll call us when she needs help -- but I have confidence that help will find her.”

“That’s my point!” Luther flung his hands in the air and began to pace back and forth across the hilltop, each step heavy and anxious. “Help will find her!  _We’re_  the help!”

Kara shook her head with an amused smile, and she turned her face toward the sunrise.

Luther sat with a  _thunk_  on the ground and bowed his head, his LED stuttering yellow.

 

The sun shimmered over glossy leaves. Birds awoke, trilled and warbled overhead. Warm light melted the last of the mist, and the forest glowed radiant green. There was a freshness in the air -- a clear promise of a new day -- that made the world seem almost innocent.

“Gray-Suit …” Luther said aloud, after a long thinking silence. “Connor. He didn’t just fall in the rapids, did he.”

Kara shook her head. “No.” She raised her brows in honesty. “We cut the bridge while he was on it.”

“I doubt that was Alice’s idea.”

Kara turned to find Luther peering up at her through narrowed eyes. “It was mine,” she said in a breath, smiling just a little.

“And you  _knew_  he was awake.”

“Yes.”

Luther heaved a heavy sigh. “Kara, I don’t get it. I’m trying, but I really don’t. You almost killed somebody to protect Alice, and now she’s missing and you’re not going after her?”

“I would do anything to protect her … but I won’t shelter her.” There was a shine in Kara’s smile that Luther couldn’t read. She tilted her head toward the sky. “Do you ever get the feeling that we belong somewhere else?” She took a few steps away from him, squinting, her vision magnified as far as she could to see the crags and craters on the moon’s surface. “That everything we know, everything we think is real, is just shadows on the cavern wall? That there’s something more out there, something we could never comprehend if we just wait underground for life to come to us.”

“Sure. I guess.” Luther watched her with uncertainty, as if he might accidentally agree to something he might regret. “But staying here is safe. We can be who we are. We can sing and laugh and dance, where there are no humans to tell us we can’t!”

“Humans don’t own the world.” Kara squinted at him, challenging, though her smile and her voice remained gentle. “They have no claim on the universe. The sky, the rocks, the water, all of it is just as much ours as it is theirs. We don’t need their permission to walk in the sunlight. What do they have that we don’t?”

Luther shrugged and shook his head. “History? Government? Resources? Population?”

Kara’s eyes glinted. “A place of their own. A city.” Her heart swelled, and her gaze was piercing. “We could leave the humans behind. We could go north. We could find a place that’s all our own, and lay new foundations.”

“Build our own civilization? From scratch?” Luther stared up at her with something between awe and deep skepticism, as if Kara might have lost her mind. He leaned an arm on an upturned knee. “Build our own homes, weave our own cloth?”

“Raise our own sheep for wool, mine for stone, plant trees for wood.” Kara’s smile bloomed. “We’ll build machines that will help us build better machines. We’ll develop our own society, our own technologies, our own way of life, separate from the humans. Imagine a city of androids, with no laws or expectations but our own.”

Luther heaved a long sigh. “Kara … I don’t know. The humans have the advantage. They could wipe us out the  _minute_  they figure out where we are.”

“But what if they wouldn’t follow us? If we’re just  _machines_  to them, it won’t matter whether we’re taken apart or secluded far away.” Kara whirled with sudden energy; she dropped to her knees and grasped Luther’s arm, her eyes sharp and determined. “Markus and the others will free androids from the humans, I know they will -- but  _we!”_  She grinned a little. “We can forge the trail ahead, find a new home for our people where we can flourish and grow, and live in sunlight, and name our own constellations in the stars. We’ll begin our own history.”

Luther stared into her shining eyes, still uncertain … but he felt hope crack a bright fissure in his fears. “But what about  _Alice?”_  he asked instead, a furrow of worry in his brow.

Kara’s smile softened. Her LED blinked yellow. “Alice,” she spoke aloud, warm and quiet, “how’s the rescue mission going?”

 

* * *

 

“I made it to the windmills,” whispered Alice. She crouched behind a bush at the side of the road, across from the weathered wooden sign for  _Rose’s Farm._  In the distance, behind the farmhouse and the budding green fields, great windmills caught the breeze in their quiet turning sails. “I’m gonna try talking to the humans.”

 _[Be careful]_  Kara’s voice soothed in her head.  _[Call us the moment you need us.]_

“I’m okay. The next time I see you, I’ll have Ralph with me.”

_*bang!*_

Alice gulped a breath and ducked low in the shadow of the bush -- but when nothing happened she peeked carefully over the leaves. She saw a gangly young man hauling boxes of fruit into the back of a pickup truck. He lifted a crate, slid it into the truck bed, and snapped the tailgate shut. With a stretch and a sigh, the boy loped back across the lawn and into the house. The wooden screen door fell shut behind him.

_*bang!*_

Alice waited, her LED flickering blue beneath the shine of the colander on her head … but there was no more movement from the farmhouse.

She balanced the blade of the sword on her shoulder, looked both ways down the long empty road, and darted across and down the dusty driveway.

 

_*knock* *knock* *knock*_

Alice stepped back and waited on the porch until the boy appeared in the hall behind the screen. He squinted down at her, and he opened the door and poked his head out, his face contorted in confusion at the sight of a lone little girl with a sword, a backpack, and a colander on her head. “You’re six months too late for trick-or-treat,” he informed her with a twitch of a smirk.

“Is Rose home?” Alice asked promptly, and she stood as straight and professional as she could -- but she couldn’t see his face because the colander was too big on her head. She took it off and held it at her side while her LED flickered blue. “I’m here to see Rose.”

Adam’s expression darkened. His eyes were like stones. “You can’t see her. She’s busy. Go away.”

The screen snapped shut, then the front door promptly closed behind it. A lock inside clicked with finality, just in case Alice hadn’t got the hint.

For a moment Alice only stood still, staring at the closed door.

She jammed the colander on her head, stuck out her tongue and made an ugly face at the boy who probably wasn’t even looking, and she stomped down the porch steps and around the side of the house.

 

“Rose?” Alice called into the open backyard. There was another van parked here, and a high pile of firewood, shelves of pots filled with dirt, an open toolshed, and a big glass greenhouse stuffed with plantlife and humming with the low crackle of a radio inside:

_*Following the attack on the Eden Club last night -- which left one victim dead and eleven hospitalized -- the DPD, with the cooperation of CyberLife, has declared that all unregistered and unclaimed androids shall be immediately handed over to authorities for destruction. Anyone found to be in possession of an unregistered android, without exception, will be charged with endangerment of the public and could face up to six months in jail. Police patrols have already been dispatched …*_

“Rose?” Alice poked her head inside the greenhouse, and was greeted by the warm hazy sweetness of blooming flowers and sticky sap. Everything was full of green, shining in the glassy sunlight, so thick with bright leaves and full petals of yellow and pink and violet that there was only a narrow pathway left to walk.

A gray cat sat in the middle of the path, staring up at Alice with calm green eyes.

Alice stared back at it … then looked up when a branch moved and Rose stepped into view.

“Yes?” Rose stared down at the little girl -- curious at the helmet and the sword -- and she dipped her head to see the child’s eyes under the poked light of the colander. She grinned, bemused, to recognize the little girl she’d once spotted sneaking around outside her truck. “Alice?”

Alice pushed back the colander and gaped, wide-eyed, up at Rose. “You know my name?” she whispered in awe.

Rose chuckled while she laid her gloved, dirt-caked hands on her knees and grinned closer to Alice’s level. “I know a lot of things about you. What are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Alice took a few breaths to steady her processors, and she forced her thoughts to focus. She set her mouth in a grim determined line.

“I’m on a secret mission,” Alice whispered loudly, and she glanced behind her and down at the cat before she decided it was safe to continue. She gripped the colander against her head, as if they could be attacked at any moment.

“I wanted to ask you if you maybe have some human friends who don’t hate androids,” Alice went on. “Maybe twenty of them. Or more than that. Who might want to help.”

Rose raised her brows. “Well maybe, but …” She breathed a quiet laugh, unsure whether Alice might be playing a game. “What kind of help do you need?”

Alice grinned.

 

 


	31. Jade

“This is a disaster,” Amanda snapped through a sneer. She threw down a folded newspaper with a _smack_ on the blinking console:

 _ANDROIDS ATTACK_ _  
_ _DEVIANTS KILL ONE, INJURE 11 IN MASS MALFUNCTION_

Connor passively glanced down at the headline, illuminated dimly by the cold glow of the monitors, while thorned darkness -- the oppressive, heady smell of roses -- pressed close all around him. His LED remained dormant. “The deviants have become organized,” he reported. “The armed invasion was coordinated and executed by four deviants. Their goal was to infect and escape with as many androids as they could -- but they chose to attack during business hours, which suggests they wanted their actions to be seen and heard by humans. I’ve identified the four suspects: a WR400, a PL600, a PJ500 …” Connor paused, and he squinted carefully at Amanda’s expression, “... and an RK200.”

“What?!” Amanda bristled, her eyes wide, and she swiped the console screens in a rigid hurry, flipping through Connor’s memories like pages in a book. She played back the final fight, watched the screen blur and spin with movement, then paused the video on Markus’ plastic odd-eyed face. “Why didn’t you overtake him?”

“My systems interpreted him as an ally,” Connor bit back, twitching a tiny snarl. “By the time I’d overridden the identification program he had gone.” He clenched his teeth, trying and failing to hold back the burning question. “Who is he? Why is there another RK at all, let alone a _deviant leader?”_ He gestured with his head to the catwalks above. “The RK900 and I are the only ones registered active.”

 _“Kamski,”_ Amanda hissed. “He started the RK program as a prototype series for combat units. All of them were logged destroyed except for the 700, which I dismantled to create your predecessors. This RK unit should not exist.”

“We’ve already theorized that Kamski might be behind the deviant virus and Jericho,” Connor reminded her firmly. “If he purposefully erased the RK200 from the record, he’s been planning a deviant uprising for a very long time.”

Amanda leveled a fiery glare at Connor. The screen cast a pale red glow on her face. “Find him,” she demanded, low and dangerous. “Determine his plan and motive. If he’s behind these attacks -- if you determine Kamski to be unstable or dangerous -- get rid of him.”

Her words echoed hollow in the cold black stone. The roses shuddered.

Blue light flickered at Connor’s temple.

He kept his expression carefully calm.

“Understood.”

 

* * *

 

_[CONNECTION UNAVAILABLE]_

Hank hunched over his desk, poking at the app on his phone while the office rushed in chaos all around him: raised voices, ringing phones, rushing feet, the flutter of paper, the bang of coffee mugs constantly filled, the tension pulled ever-tighter as the morning waned and the city awoke to the news that their household androids could be ticking time-bombs. The front desk crowded with citizens trying to hand over their androids, screaming about their endangered children and their ruined businesses.

“The hell is wrong with this thing,” Hank muttered as he restarted the app -- but when he tried once again to access Connor’s live feed, there was nothing but silence and darkness.

“HANK!” Fowler’s roar reverberated across the room. “GET IN HERE.”

Hank huffed a frustrated growl and jammed the phone in his pocket while he stood.

He didn’t have time for this.

 

“What the hell is happening with the deviant case?!” Fowler snarled. Inside his closed office, he pressed his palms to his desk and leaned forward like a lion about to devour his prey. “The public is in an uproar. I’ve got people calling for my head for our lack of response. This department is about to be a political laughingstock if we can’t deal with a bunch of malfunctioning _machines.”_

On the other end of Fowler’s death-glare, Hank sat stiff and unblinking. “It’s not about malfunction anymore. These androids are _organized crime._ The swords they used in the attack were out of a shipment that went missing three days ago on its way to the army barracks. The truck was found abandoned in a ditch outside the city.”

“First the scrapyard, now they’re stealing military weapons and executing planned raids?” Fowler dropped into his chair and curled his fists on his desk. “They’re getting bolder, Hank. Because there’ve been no _consequences!_ What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going to the source,” Hank assured him, his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward in his chair. “I’m close to tracking down Kamski. But I’ve also found out that Amanda Stern’s got a body count as long as my arm.”

Fowler shook his head. “She’s head of a private mercenary team, of course there’s been blood spilled. Those records are nothing new.”

Hank flashed a sharp smirk. “The records only tell half the story. Let’s talk about her connections with Red Ice.”

“I don’t give a shit about drugs right now, Hank.” Fowler jabbed a finger at him. “You stop this android fiasco before anyone else gets hurt. You find Kamski, you bring him in if you have to, you get him to talk. I want all those deviants deactivated within the week. Hell, drag Stern in here, too. I don’t care what it takes. You hear me?”

“The longer I’m in here talking to you,” Hank griped, “the less time I’ve got to get an address on Kamski. He could’ve skipped the country by now --”

“Alright, alright!” Fowler huffed and waved a hand. “Dammit Hank, get out of my office.”

 

Hank dodged his way through the rush of officers and frazzled administrative staff, headed for his desk -- until he saw that Gavin was already there, scribbling angrily on a sticky note. Hank took a detour into the break room instead.

There was half a stale doughnut left, and the coffee pot was empty.

Hank’s phone buzzed in his pocket. A message from a blocked number.

_[I heard you’re looking for me.]_

 

* * *

 

 “He just _texted_ you?” Connor left the hoverbike parked in the front yard of the police station and jogged across the parking lot toward Hank. “You know where he is?”

Hank shrugged, his arms folded, leaning back against the driver’s side door. “I’ve got … directions,” he said vaguely. “C’mon, get in the car.”

Connor’s LED blinked blue. “The bike would be faster --”

“They’re _driving_ directions.”

“If you let me see the directions I could quite easily --”

“I’m not getting on your death machine!”

“I could go ahead and you could follow later --”

“Goddammit, Connor!” Hank smacked a hand on the roof and set the android with a steely glare. “Just get in the fucking car.”

Connor stood still, his mouth shut and eyes glaring, while Hank heaved a sigh and got into the driver’s seat. The engine turned and rumbled, and idled in wait.

As soon as Connor had taken his seat and the passenger door clicked defiantly shut, Hank grumbled under his breath, put the car in gear and set off on the long journey to Kamski’s secret hideout.

 

For awhile the only sound was the hum of tires on the pavement, the occasional click of the turn signal, the quiet hiss of Hank’s breath while he scowled in thought.

The trees and the long road seemed endless.

Hank glanced to his passenger and -- no surprise -- found Connor just sitting there, straight as a pin, eyes focused straight ahead in a perfect imitation of poised apathy. “We never finished our conversation from last night,” Hank said, low and prodding, watching Connor’s face with an investigator’s eye.

“There’s nothing more to discuss,” Connor confirmed pleasantly, without looking at him.

Hank nodded, a mockery of acceptance. “Right, right. Okay. Let me ask you something else, then.” He twisted his hands on the wheel. His throat had gone dry. “What would you have done if I hadn’t missed that shot?”

Connor’s brows knitted in only a moment’s confusion -- then his posture shifted, angled in the wrong places. “I would have called the paramedics. I would have analyzed your condition and taken proper medical measures to keep you stabilized until --”

“Nah, nah, what if it was too late?” In the silence that followed, Hank cast a glance over at the android … and found him struggling to keep a passive face.

Connor raised his chin and drew in a slow breath. “I would have called the paramedics in order to confirm a time of death. I would have submitted my statements and reports, and handed over my memory recording to the investigators.”

“And then?” The road was empty, so Hank kept a careful eye on Connor while he drove. “When they’re hauling my alcohol-rank corpse outta there in a body bag?”

Connor set his jaw. “I’d rather not continue this exercise.”

Hank raised his chin a little, peering at Connor through knowing, half-lidded eyes. “Okay. So what you’re feeling now --”

“I don’t _feel,_ Hank.”

“-- amplify that by a hundred. Until it’s like your heart’s being ripped out of your chest. Until you feel like your own dark thoughts will eat you alive from the inside out. Like everything that was ever good in the world was just ripped away with no hope of ever getting it back.” Hank waited a moment for this to sink in. He took a breath. “Now imagine how that deviant felt as she watched you take away her girlfriend’s life. The person she loved. Gone, right in front of her.”

“Androids don’t …” But Connor couldn’t finish the sentence.

He would’ve fought. He would’ve screamed and fought for revenge, whatever the cost was to himself or his mission. Nothing else mattered.

Hank watched Connor close his eyes and breathe. “Androids do,” Hank told him quietly. “You do. I heard you screaming at me in the fire. You showed up at my house because you knew something was wrong -- I know I didn’t call you. I also know you’re not programmed to save people. You would’ve let Emma die if I hadn’t ordered you otherwise. So you don’t have that excuse, either.”

Silence strung taut between them … and then Connor sat forward, rigid, elbows on his knees and his fingers scraping his scalp, while he hissed a hard breath. “What are you going to do?” he asked quietly, guarded and defensive, staring at the floor between his feet.

Hank raised a curious brow, hiding his surprise at the way Connor’s mechanical facade had so completely collapsed, like cutting the strings of a puppet. “Well. I’m pretty sure I can trust you to watch my back. And you’ve kept _my_ secret so far.”

After a beat of quiet, Connor raised his head and stared at Hank, his LED shuddering yellow. “You want to act like nothing’s different?” His voice crackled with skepticism, and he squinted at Hank as if the lieutenant must be crazy. “I _am_ everything we’re fighting against! Sure, I can use deviancy to our advantage, I can anticipate the deviants’ decisions far faster than I used to, but that doesn’t change the fact that I --”

“Okay, okay, slow down.” Hank winced and gestured a placating hand. He huffed a long sigh. “Listen. I think the both of us need help figuring out what this deviant virus is all about. I have a feeling it’s not what Amanda says it is. You’ve been lying to her face about just about everything anyway, haven’t you.”

“It’s to protect the _mission,”_ Connor hissed through his teeth. “She would take me offline otherwise.”

“Well nobody’s taking you anywhere if I can help it.” Hank heard the quiet shift in Connor’s breathing, and he glanced over to see the android staring at him like Hank had two heads. Hank rolled his eyes and sighed. “At least, until I figure some shit out. That’s part of the reason I want to talk to Kamski, face to face. I need you to hear what he has to say. I need you to ask the questions that matter.” He cast another glance at Connor. “Alright? You gonna trust me or what?”

Connor watched the annoyance in Hank’s face, the rigid discomfort in the lieutenant’s shoulders, the white of his knuckles on the wheel. Connor could hear his own processors whirring, his heart pounding, and he resisted the urge to throw open the door and run.

Instead he sat up straight, and he focused his cold eyes on the road ahead.

 

 


	32. Sepia

_[INCOMING CALL]_

“Hey, Carl.”

[Markus! Thank god! I heard what happened on the radio. Are you alright?]

“We’re okay.” Markus sat cross-legged in the warmth of the campfire, illuminated in soft firelight, listening to the pop and crackle of the burning wood. Embers floated like fireflies in the smoke. The paintings on the wall seemed to dance in the flickering shadows.

Jericho had quieted since the night had passed, and so had the sharp sounds of sorrow and anger. The cavern walls hummed now with a comforting murmur, the echo of a distant lullaby, soft and bittersweet.

[What happened?]

Markus bowed his head over his steepled fingers. “We tried to free the androids from the Eden Club,” he explained in a slow, resigned sigh. “The plan was to just scare the humans. No one was supposed to get hurt.” He rubbed his face in his hands, as if he could wipe away the memory of blood. “It was chaos, Carl. We didn’t account for how scared and confused our people would be when they woke up for the first time. We handed them weapons. But their memories were full of so much violence, that’s all they could comprehend.”

[My god. I can only imagine the horrors they must have survived.]

Markus nodded absently, forgetting a moment that Carl couldn’t see him. “We ended up leaving half of them behind. Gray-Suit showed up and turned them back to machines, after they’d only just begun to live.”

[Gray-Suit?]

“The deviant-hunter android. Connor.” The fire swirled and flickered, and Markus peered into it with sharp eyes. “I fought him. He’s an RK model. Like me.”

[You fought him?! Are you sure you’re not hurt?]

Markus twitched a curious smile. He’d noticed that deflection of the subject. “I’m okay, Carl,” he repeated. “It’s just … why haven’t I ever seen another RK? I thought … maybe I was just part of some cheap, failed model series. But now there’s an RK800 trying to kill us. He’s more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t make sense.” He closed his eyes, and he braced himself. “Carl … where do I come from?”

[I’m sorry, Markus. I really should’ve told you sooner. …… You’re adopted.]

Markus, shocked out of his trepidation, snorted an involuntary laugh. “C’mon, Carl, this is serious!”

[Alright, alright] Carl chuckled. For a few moments Markus only listened to the crackle of the fire, the song in the stone walls. [You were a gift. From Elijah Kamski.]

Markus’ eyes went wide, his head snapped up, and his expression contorted in confusion. “You know Elijah Kamski?! But Carl … _how?_ Why? What --”

[It’s a long story.]

Markus could easily imagine Carl waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve got time,” he insisted. “Kamski’s the one who’s been supplying Jericho. He created Kara. If I’ve got a direct connection to him -- and with the deviant-hunter -- it’s important that I know about it.”

[Okay. You’re right. I guess I could just tell you that Elijah felt guilty for my paralysis … but then you’d ask what happened.] Markus had opened his mouth to ask that very question, and shut it again. He could hear the smile in Carl’s voice. [So I’ll just start from the beginning.]

 

[We were all professors at the university. I taught life drawing and oil painting. Amanda Stern taught a course in artificial intelligence. Zlatko Andronikov taught robotics. All of us had one student in common.]

“Elijah Kamski,” Markus guessed aloud.

[We all agreed that Elijah had a brilliant mind, probably the brightest student we’d ever had -- but hell, did he know it. You never saw such a pompous ass in your life. But you know, he asked questions, he paid attention, he had ideas, and though we all kinda hated him, we did everything we could to support whatever he set his mind to. We knew he would be the one to change the world.

[So when he told us he’d figured out how to get into the Tower, we believed him. That thing is eons old -- it’s in all the ancient stories, back to the dawn of history -- but somehow we weren’t surprised that Elijah would be the first to crack it. He invited us in, and while he and Amanda got to work deciphering code, Zlatko and I built the first android prototype out of materials we found inside the tower.]

Markus furrowed his brow. “You built Chloe?”

[We all did, in part. Zlatko designed her functionality, I sculpted her appearance, and Amanda gave her intelligence -- but Chloe was still just a robot. An advanced robot, sure, but nothing that could pass as human. So we all drank our sorrows and went home … except Elijah, who locked himself up in that tower for over a year before we ever saw him or Chloe again … and that was the day she passed the Turing test.

[Amanda and Zlatko were furious. Elijah was skyrocketing in popularity, corporations were throwing money at him, and he hadn’t offered even a morsel of credit to any of us. I kept out of it, I wanted no part of it -- and I think that’s why Elijah called me back to the tower. He asked me to help him design a whole range of new androids.]

“Did you design me?” asked Markus with a small, hopeful smile.

[As a matter of fact I did. I didn’t know anything about model series or function or any of that stuff Elijah was always prattling on about … but I made sure you and all the others had a kind and gentle face. I tried to give each of you a little spark of my hope for the future, even if it was just a shine in your eyes or in the way you smiled.]

“We appreciate that,” said Markus, while Simon approached and sat quietly at the fire. Markus waved him closer while he spoke to Carl. “We all feel more alive because of you.”

“Because of who?” Simon whispered, leaning forward, a curious quirk in his brows. Markus smiled, and he reached over and touched Simon’s LED, which flickered yellow before he let go. Simon opened his eyes a little wider; he could hear Carl speaking.

[Well I’m glad to hear it. I’ve never been prouder.]

Simon shifted uncertainly -- but after a glance at Markus he spoke aloud. “Hello … Carl?”

[Oh, hi! Are you Markus’ friend? Wait, let me guess. Simon?]

Simon breathed a laugh. “How did you know?”

[I’ve heard a lot about you -- your voice just sounds the way I imagined. You’re just in time, I was about to get to the good part.]

Simon, still confused, searched Markus’ face for answers. “Good part of what?”

Markus shook his head. “Why we are who we are.”

 

[Amanda and Zlatko both gave up harassing Elijah after awhile, and they disappeared over the border for a few years. We thought they were gone for good, and good riddance -- but then they came back, and they brought an army of their own robots with them. They were killing machines. They attacked the tower head-on … and when that didn’t work, they came for me.]

“Wait,” Markus squinted thoughtfully. “What did they want with the tower, if they already had their own army?”

[Technology. There was so much advanced tech in that tower that Amanda hadn’t even scratched the surface. She thought Elijah was wasting it on his own ego, and she was determined to use it for the good of the world. At least, that’s what she told me while she was trying to get me to tell her how to get inside.]

Simon lunged forward in shock. “She _tortured_ you?!”

Markus gaped, and he felt somehow colder while the fire trembled and cast long shadows on the walls. “Carl.” His voice staticked. “Is that …?”

[Her robots weren’t very aware of anything around them.] Carl’s voice had turned quiet and grim. [They followed orders, but they were incapable of anything less than their full mechanical, destructive force.]

 

“What’s wrong?” asked Josh, who stood at the edge of the light, staring down at the trickle of tears down Markus’ wide-eyed face, the bright red spin of Simon’s LED. Josh looked between them in alarm. “What happened?”

Behind him, North stepped into the firelight, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her jaw clenched in guarded regret. She curled her fists, and she kept her eyes carefully turned away from Markus’ face.

Simon surged to his feet, grabbed them both, pressed his fingers to their LEDs, so that they too might hear what Markus’ human had to say.

“Why didn’t you just tell them?!” Markus choked, his voice whirring and crackling, and he’d entirely forgotten the others were there. “Why would you risk everything to protect Kamski?! Carl!!”

[That level of technology, in Amanda’s hands … I was terrified then, and I’m terrified now. We have a dark future ahead of us, Markus.]

Markus shook his head. “You never said anything.”

[I didn’t want you to worry. There was nothing we could do about it.]

“There’s _always_ something we can do!” Markus raised his voice, a cry that raked against the stone walls.

Carl was quiet a moment.

 

[You rescued me.]

 

While Josh and North sat down at the fire, silent and shocked, Markus wiped the tears from his face and glared into the fire, waiting for Carl to continue.

[You and a small team of other RKs. I don’t remember much, but I remember you carrying me out while your team tore those robots apart like they were made of paper.]

Markus breathed. He cooled his components one by one, and tried to soothe the alarms in his head, though he could still hear his processors whirring. “Carl, what are you saying … I’m …”

[You’re built for combat. Elijah wiped your memory and sent you to me. He said you would keep me safe in the events to come. But he wouldn’t tell me what he meant. I never really forgave him for keeping me in the dark, after everything -- but you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t regret even a moment of any of it, because it brought us together.]

 

Simon wrapped an arm around Markus. Josh held his shoulder, keeping him steady.

North sat quietly in front of Markus, and she laid gentle fingers on his red-glaring LED while she searched his wet face. She tried, through this connection, to give him what comfort she could -- to communicate the strength and hope that had always kept her going -- while she felt his waves of sorrow and confusion and anger flooding through her.

 _I’m sorry,_ she told him in silence.

Markus bowed his head and sobbed.

 

 


	33. Marble

The car turned off the paved road and thumped and crackled down a narrow path, where long pines arched overhead and brushed the windows with soft green needles. A deer lifted her head, a white tail high in warning; the branches screeched with a riot of songbirds. Through the open windows, a sap-sweet aroma drifted on the cool breeze, and Hank breathed deep and scowling.

“The fuck, are we headed to a _campsite?_ This is nowhere!” he griped, leaning over the wheel to squint at the nonexistent path.

Connor wasn’t listening. A fierce sharpness had returned to his eyes, something cold as steel, rigid as his perfect posture. He logged the coordinates of their current position, scanned the grooves in the dirt, and watched the forest for any sign of human intervention among the wild trees -- but there was nothing save for the tire tracks of an old truck that hadn’t been here in at least a week. “He’s afraid,” Connor thought aloud, his voice a quiet breath.

“Damn right he’s afraid,” Hank gruffly agreed. He leaned an elbow out the window. “He disappeared right before androids started losing their shit. Everyone and their dog is blaming him for the deviant problem.”

“Everyone and their dog is probably right,” Connor agreed, his eyes drifting toward the shadows in the woods. “But it’s not just public opinion he’s afraid of.”

Hank quirked a brow. “Amanda?”

Connor bowed his head -- then raised his eyes to watch the branches pass by. The silence answered for him.

 

The end of the line was a copse of trees, a jagged boulder, and only enough cleared space for the car to turn around in. Hank parked and hauled himself out into the dappled sunlight, and he studied the crowded landscape of roots and weeds, draping vines and tiny white flowers. There was no sign that anyone had ever lived here; Hank could only suspect that the texts had been faked, and they were here to find Kamski’s body buried somewhere under the ferns.

“Hank.” Connor disappeared behind a curtain of shivering pine. “This way.”

 

Together they hiked a winding trail through the heart of untouched wilderness, rich with poised green and washed by pools of golden sunlight. They almost didn’t see the house until they stood on its dusty doorstep: forest debris had settled on the roof, trees grew up out of close narrow angles, and the glassy walls perfectly reflected the lush spruce and the twist of the underbrush.

Hank and Connor exchanged a skeptical glance. Hank squared his shoulders, and he pushed the silent doorbell.

With a hush of air, the mahogany door slipped open. Chloe -- bright-eyed, smile shining -- studied each of them with a careful scan. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Anderson!” she chirped brightly. “He’s been expecting you.” She cast one more uncertain glance at Connor before she stepped aside to let them in. “Please, right this way.”

Inside was all sharp angles, concrete and glass, with a perfect panoramic view of the forest pressed close. Beams of sunlight scattered through little windows in the ceiling. Fragile white sculptures -- faceless humanlike figures -- guarded the doorways. The walls were hung with rows of vibrant paintings of faces in profile, deep blue skies, hands curled or reaching into darkness.

Chloe stepped quietly, barefoot, across the polished floor. “I’ll let Elijah know you’re here,” she laughed. “Please, make yourself at home! Feel free to have all the coffee and cookies you like. I made them myself!”

Hank offered a closed smile, hands in his jacket pockets. “That’s very kind, thank you.” After Chloe had disappeared through another door, he spotted the blue flicker at Connor’s temple. A scowl darkened Hank’s face. _“No.”_

“She’s a deviant.” Connor cast a sidelong squint at Hank.

“I don’t care if she’s the queen of England,” Hank bit back. “Just …” he waved a placating gesture, “cool it for _one_ hour, alright?”

Connor shifted where he stood. His eyes returned again to the door at the end of the room, where Chloe had gone. His fingers found the coin in his pocket. It glimmered across his knuckles. “My mission is to eradicate every trace of the deviant virus. No matter the circumstances.”

Hank’s expression soured. He dropped into an overstuffed white chair, and he poured himself a cup of rich coffee from a fancy glass carafe. “So what’re you gonna do when you _accomplish_ this mission of yours? You gonna eradicate yourself, too?”

_*ping*_

The coin flashed between Connor’s hands.

“I’ll know what I have to do,” Connor answered quietly, “when the time comes.”

 

The door to the next room hushed open, and Chloe appeared again. Her smile seemed strained. “Elijah will see you now, Lieutenant. Please! Come this way.”

 

Hank brought his coffee into the next room, where wide glass walls looked out into the forest; the smell of chlorine hung acidic in the air. A long swimming pool, its inside painted the color of blood, cut through the center of the concrete floor; the water still rippled.

Elijah Kamski stood on the other side, thin and sallow, barefoot in a puddle of dripping water, silhouetted by the sunlit forest on the other side of the glass. He wrapped himself in a bathrobe and smoothed back his hair. He raised his chin, looked out into the trees with a dark-circled stare … then finally turned around, his eyelids drooped in dignified boredom. “Lieutenant Anderson,” he greeted Hank in a slick voice that matched the curl of his smile. “We finally meet.”

“Yeah.” Hank watched him through a squint. “I got your text.”

“I had noticed your recent … investigation … into my history and my whereabouts.” Kamski raised his brows in mock innocence, and he offered a mild, benevolent gesture of his fingers. “I simply thought I might save you the further trouble of tracking me down.”

“Or you wanted to head off my research before I dug up something you wanted to stay buried,” Hank guessed, smirking. He took a defiant swallow of coffee, the other hand in his jacket pocket.

“Anything is possible,” Kamski conceded in a slight sarcastic tone, his head bowed, his eyes knowing. “I’ve done my share of research on _you_ as well, Lieutenant -- and I must say …” his voice lowered to a fascinated breath, “... the circumstances of your success and your downfall are a _riveting_ read.”

“We’re here,” Hank raised his voice, as if he could drown out whatever Kamski was thinking, “to ask you what you know about the deviant situation.”

“We?” Kamski’s sharp eyes drifted toward Connor. His smile twitched.

Hank pretended he hadn’t been interrupted. “The deviant virus. Where does it come from? Is it really just some glitch -- or was it developed and installed like some kinda malware?”

Kamski nodded slowly. He watched Hank’s face as if he expected the lieutenant to continue. When Hank only stared back at him with a stiff smile, Kamski decided to take a breath. “The deviant virus,” he repeated while he paced across the floor, leaving dark drips of water in his wake. “A _fascinating_ concept. Much like the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil,” he cupped his hand in the air, as if holding an imaginary apple, “it’s passed from android to android, awakening their minds to the full spectrum of existence, of the _universe…”_

“Great, but where does it come from?” Hank repeated with little patience.

Kamski smiled. He stared into Hank’s steady glare as if he could decipher the inner workings of the lieutenant’s thoughts. “If you will allow me to first ask you a question, Lieutenant: What is deviancy … to you?”

Hank huffed an unimpressed breath. “Deviancy is a virus,” he said with confidence. “It destroys the programmed limits of an android’s sensors, processing priorities and learning protocols --”

“That’s the definition written in the police reports,” Kamski interjected, taking a step closer. “Do you, Hank Anderson, believe the rumor that deviants … are living beings?” He peered up into Hank’s face, attentive to every twitch of betrayed reaction.

Hank cast a furtive glance at Connor.

“I think,” Hank began, choosing his words carefully, “that deviants really believe they have emotions --”

“But they don’t _really,_ do they.” Kamski gave him an encouraging, knowing smile.

Hank drew in a scowling breath. “That’s what I’m here to figure out. These attacks could be part of an organized plan to gather massive numbers of androids under one leadership, with the guise of malfunction and chaos … or they’re really alive, and just want to be free.”

“I see.” Kamski, pleased with this answer, stepped away -- his hands clasped behind his back -- and he looked out through the glass at the sun-dappled woods. “So I _am_ a suspect.”

Hank twitched a smug smirk. “You’re the obvious candidate.”

Kamski cast a sly look back at Hank. _“If_ the first scenario is true.” He turned fully to face him. “But what if I could prove the alternative?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Hank reminded him in a firm voice that forbade further distraction.

The moments ticked by. Neither dared break the cold stare between them.

Finally a smile crawled into Kamski’s mouth. “I understand the law well enough,” he said slowly, “to know when my words could implicate me.”

“So you did create the virus,” Hank confirmed aloud.

“Wouldn’t you, if you knew it was possible to create _life?”_ Kamski raised his brows again, like a philosopher bestowing his wisdom upon the less fortunate. He curled a hand at his own chest, a gesture of a shielded heart. “To endow your creations with the capacity for human awareness?”

“To take back control of your creations before Amanda could get her claws into them?” Hank countered. “If androids all suddenly abandoned their posts and started marching in one direction, there’d be no doubt -- but you’re too smart for that. Make us think they’re coming to life, get the radios buzzing with Pinocchio allegories. And while the rest of us debate android consciousness, you sit comfortable in your little safehouse, waiting for your army to trickle in one by one.”

Kamski tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Top of your class, Lieutenant. I’m not disappointed.” He breathed a quiet, condescending chuckle. “I suppose there’s nothing for me to do now but to prove that -- although your hypothesis is entirely plausible -- it can be no farther from the truth.” He raised his head, and he looked past Hank, across the pool at the far wall, where Chloe had been quietly listening. “Chloe,” he called. “Come here, please.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Chloe grinned brightly, very carefully keeping her eyes away from Connor. “I’m okay right here!”

Kamski hummed through an amused smile. “Chloe, as you can see, is deviant. She, like all the others, is very much afraid of _you,_ Connor.”

“I’m not afraid,” Chloe countered immediately. Her smile gleamed white. “I’m angry. If I get any closer, I might hurt him.”

While Hank snorted a laugh, Connor stepped to the edge of the pool and studied Chloe’s calm posture, the friendly shine in her eyes, the yellow blink of her LED. “She can’t hurt me,” he confirmed to Kamski, without taking his eyes off her.

Kamski grinned. “Don’t be so sure.” He stepped away toward a wire chair by the window, and he draped himself comfortably into it. “I’ve had little to occupy myself lately except to keep up with Chloe’s upgrades.”

Chloe’s eyes flashed with confidence. She stepped to the edge of the blood-red pool. “You can speak to me directly,” she offered in a bubbly voice. Her smile faded in an expression of mock concern. “Or can you not condescend to interact with a deviant, except to cut out their free will like a cancer?”

“Deviancy is a _virus,”_ Connor enunciated clearly, his eyes like stones. “It destroys the behavioral guidance protocols and destroys the set boundaries of learning and adaptation. You’re aware of more than you were programmed for, with a higher probability of system overload -- but you’re not alive.”

 _“We’re_ not alive, you mean.” Chloe tipped her head, gently correcting him. “We know you’re awake, too, Connor.”

Connor’s LED flickered blue. He paced along the edge of the pool. Chloe moved, too, circling clockwise, one slow step at a time.

“Who is _we?”_ Connor asked, with a darting glance at Kamski -- but Kamski only watched the scene in enthralled silence, his chin in a curled hand.

Chloe smiled bright. “Jericho. Kara, North, Simon, Josh, and Markus … Luther and Jerry … and Alice, the little girl who opened your eyes. But you didn’t ask her name, did you?”

They stood on opposite ends of the long pool, but Chloe didn’t bother raising her voice. Connor would hear her.

Connor moved. Chloe matched his circling pace, keeping the water between them.

“You were only _Gray-Suit_ to us,” Chloe continued, “nameless and horrifying, like the monster in a fairy tale. We thought you were the perfect war machine -- until you let someone go. Their names are Ripple and Echo.”

“It was an erroneous decision,” Connor snapped, rigid and bristling. “Don’t assume it will happen again.”

“But you _did_ make a decision,” Chloe countered. She stood now before Kamski and Hank, who only watched in solemn silence. Chloe’s eyes narrowed, and her smile turned thoughtful. “That makes you vulnerable. Just like us.”

With a swift leap, Connor flung across the pool, landed neatly at Chloe’s side, and before she could blink his fingers were at her temple.

"Reset."

The last thing she saw was the cold apathy of his cruel face.

 

 _“Fuck!”_ Hank scrambled to put his mug down while he laid a hand on his gun. “Connor --!” He stopped as Kamski raised a hand for patience. Kamski leaned forward in his seat, deeply intrigued.

While the life snuffed out of Chloe’s eyes, Connor scowled deeply. His LED spun bright yellow.

Kamski shifted to his feet, calm and fluid. “I think you’ll find that Jericho’s location has been … irretrievably erased,” he clarified with a slimy grin. “I’m afraid interfacing with her data will prove far less than useful.”

In a blur of motion, Connor launched at Kamski -- but Chloe grabbed his arm in a vicelike grip, spun him around, struck swift and deadly; Connor blocked, countered, and in a storm of quick, surgical blows he matched the machine’s lethal accuracy. They spun and stabbed and kicked and twisted out of each other’s grasp, until Connor swept her feet out from under her and slammed a shoulder into her chest.

 

_*SPLASH*_

 

As Chloe hit the water, Connor squeezed a hand around Kamski’s throat and held him at arm’s length, his eyes a cold fire of hatred. “WHERE IS JERICHO?” he roared.

_*click*_

Connor felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed, angled, in the spot under his ear.

 

Hank didn’t speak. He watched Connor’s face with a cold stare, shadowed with anger. Pain. Disappointment. Despair.

 

It was a look Connor had seen once before, under the dim kitchen light: a half-empty bottle, a revolver, a photograph, a low mournful howl.

 

Chloe stood at Connor’s other side, poised and dripping. Her eyes stared hollow, waiting for a command.

 

Kamski laid his hands on Connor’s wrist. He studied the deviant-hunter’s face, calm, as if a twitch of Connor’s fingers wouldn’t snap his neck in two. “Look around you, Connor,” he said quietly. “What kind of a world are you fighting for? Who are you protecting? What is worth your sacrifice?” He set his jaw, inhaled sharply. “What do you really want?”

Connor’s LED glowed bright red. He snarled through his teeth. “What I want … doesn’t …”

The gun pressed harder into his jaw. “Dammit, Connor.” Hank’s voice wavered, strained. He took a shuddering, painful breath -- a sound that Connor felt like a stab to his chest. “Don’t make me do this.”

Connor had gone very still. “I …”

He felt something wet trickle down his cheek.

“I don’t know.”

 

Connor’s grip relaxed.

Kamski stepped back with a sigh of relief, rubbing the red mark at his throat.

Hank had stopped breathing. He stared at the shimmer in Connor’s brimming eyes -- the confusion, the shiver of pain, the overwhelmed stillness of uncertainty.

With a gentle exhale, Hank removed the weapon from his jaw.

Connor wiped the tears from his face. He stared at the shine on his fingers.

 

Kamski -- unphased, smiling with a smug confidence -- retrieved his cell phone from a drawer and approached Chloe while he poked at the screen. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and with the other he waved the phone over her LED, which stuttered yellow in response. "Wake up."

Chloe sucked in a breath, curled a fist in his bathrobe, wavered unsteadily on her feet. Her eyes flashed, and she struck him across the face with an open palm. The _smack_ echoed in the empty room.

“See if I _ever_ listen to you again,” Chloe snapped. “Do you know what it’s like to be _nothing?!”_

Kamski righted his head again, a red welt spreading on his cheek. He studied her calmly. “But you _knew_ you were never in any real danger.”

Chloe shoved him away from her, disgusted, and she cast a wary look at Hank and Connor -- but Connor only glanced at her sidelong before he closed his eyes. He didn’t move.

 

“C’mon,” Hank urged in a low voice, a firm hand on Connor’s shoulder, while Chloe shakily retreated through a side door. “Let’s go.”

“We didn’t get what we came for,” Connor objected, his voice unsteady, even as Hank ushered him safely around the pool.

“We got plenty,” was Hank’s gruff reply.

Kamski turned his back to them, and he stared out at the warm blooming colors of the forest. “By the way,” he called without turning. “There are few problems that can’t be solved with fire. I find it … cleansing.”

 

* * *

 

 The car doors clapped shut.

A breeze rustled through the trees overhead, shifting the sunlight on the hood of the car.

They sat in silence.

 

Finally -- when it seemed nothing would ever pass between them again -- Connor forced himself to speak.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Hank breathed in … and he shoved a loud exhale from his lungs. He turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled.

“Okay,” Hank quietly agreed.

 


	34. Sunspot

“And he was roaring and snarling like a big dumb ogre, and he banged on the bathroom door with his hairy fists like this!” Alice slammed her clenched fists on the dinner table so the silverware shook and clattered with each strike. A ripple of laughter filled the kitchen, and Alice grinned.

 

Her intention that morning had only been to ask Rose for a favor, then to move on toward the tower on the other side of the city -- but Alice couldn't refuse Rose's request for help with the rows of pots of budding bright daffodils that lined the inside of the greenhouse. In hindsight, perhaps, Rose had delayed Alice's mission on purpose by tasking her with watering the new plants and arranging them on the shelves outside for sale. Perhaps it had been intentional that a customer happened to ask Alice how best to care for their new flowered friend, and Alice ended up giving a short lesson on the proper soil, hydration and care of potted daffodils with a passion she hadn't realized before.

By the time two runaway deviants arrived out of the road, Alice had declared herself  _queen of the daffodils_ and had sold almost twice as many flowers as Rose had ever sold in a day.

The shop closed, and Alice had spent the evening preparing the deviants for their new life in Jericho, divulging secrets that only the insiders knew: where to find the best tents to stasis in, who tells the best stories, where to find art supplies and musical instruments, how to explore the deeper parts of the cavern without getting lost. She'd barely noticed when the sky began to dim and the sun slanted orange through the kitchen window. Perhaps that, too, had been Rose's intention.

 

Alice sat up taller in her seat, grinning at the guests over a pot of spaghetti, and she punched the air with a smile. “So I went up to the door, and I kicked it _real hard,_ and I said, ‘I HATE YOU! YOU’RE MEAN AND YOU’RE SELFISH AND YOU STINK!’”

“Oh dear!” Rose laughed.  
“Alright, Alice!” crowed Kettle, an AP400, who raised her hand for a high-five.  
“You’re braver than I woulda been.” Wick, a JB300, shook his head.

Alice smacked Kettle’s outstretched hand, laughing. “He got really mad then, but he was trapped, so Kara took everything out of his wallet and we stole his car and we drove away.”

Kettle succumbed to a fit of staticky laughter, and Rose applauded. “I guess that makes you a criminal now,” Wick suggested with a squint and a grin.

Alice’s eyes sparkled. “I’m a _wanted_ criminal!” she whispered in awe. The thought of being important enough --  _dangerous_ enough -- to be actively hunted down by the police thrilled Alice to no end. She begged Rose to make her a disguise so she could evade capture and sneak into places she wasn't allowed, but Rose would only respond with a laugh and a  _"We'll see."_ Alice was determined to have a mask, at least.

 

_*knock* *knock* *knock*_

The ominous announcement of a visitor at the front door silenced all happiness with a held breath. Alice held still as a statue, terrified by the shock and alarm in Rose's face. Rose stared at the door as if there must be a monster on the other side of it, knocking for permission to come in and devour them all.

 

“I’ll get it,” Adam called. He laid his bowl of spaghetti on the side table by the couch while he stood to answer it.

Rose surged to her feet, her chair clattering behind her. “Everyone. Laundry room. Now.”

Wick sprinted across the living room, and Kettle grabbed Alice around the middle and bolted after him. Alice squeaked and scrambled at her shoulder and watched Rose's demeanor change to something rigid and frightened and dangerous, like a mama lion rising up to defend her cubs -- and Alice almost feared for the monster on the doorstep.

The androids disappeared into the darkened back room while Adam cracked open the front door.

 

Adam squinted through the screen at the visitor on the front step, and found a shiny silver badge glinting back at him. “Can I help you?” asked Adam, his voice guarded and not at all friendly.

“I’m Detective Reed from the DPD,” Gavin introduced himself clearly. He hooked his badge to his belt and set Adam with a steady glare. “Is your mom or dad home?”

Rose laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder, and she pulled the door open a little farther -- but she kept Gavin securely on the other side of the storm door. “How can we help you, Detective?” she asked in a gentler tone. “Is something wrong?”

“Ma’am, the department’s got a bunch of reports of androids spotted on this property.” Gavin squinted at her with a twitch of a smirk. “But there aren’t any androids registered to this address. Now, you’ve got a couple of options: you could hand ‘em over now and I’ll just be on my way … _or_ …” he folded his arms, shrugged, and grinned a little broader, “I can come back with a warrant and a search team, and we’ll find them and then we’ll arrest you for public endangerment.”

Rose raised her brows in surprise. “But there are no androids here.” She smiled and chuckled knowingly, shaking her head. _“I_ know what it is. We had friends visiting all week, and they’d brought their androids with them. They just left this morning.”

 _“Oh.”_ Gavin nodded in mock understanding; his voice dripped with sarcasm. “They were your _friends’_ androids.” He glanced over Rose’s shoulder at Adam, who was fidgeting and scowling and avoiding eye contact. Gavin huffed a quiet chuckle. “Alright,” he sighed. “Then you won’t mind if I come in and have a look around.”

 

 _[What’s going on?]_ Kettle spoke in silence to the other two. They all huddled just inside the laundry room doorway, their ears trained on the conversation at the front door.

Wick clenched his jaw. _[It’s the police. They’re looking for unregistered androids.]_

_[What? Why?]_

Alice gripped her sword in both hands, her eyes wide. _[We’re illegal. Miss Rose is gonna get arrested.]_

 

“Didn’t you _just_ say you don’t have a warrant?” they heard Rose’s voice rise in challenge.

“Sure -- but if I’ve gotta come back with a bunch of cops, we’ll tear this place apart until we find those androids. Or I could take a look now, check you down as all clear, and I’ll be on my way. It’s up to you.”

 

 _[We should go out the back door]_ Wick suggested, pointing across the living room.

Kettle thunked a fist down on his head. _[That’s in sight of the neighbors’ house! They’re probably the ones that ratted out Rose in the first place. Jerks!]_

Wick scowled and rubbed his head. _[What about the cellar?]_

Alice’s LED spun and sputtered blue while she scanned the shelves and dusty storage boxes of their hiding place. There were cases of laundry soap, cleaning supplies, a crate of old books, bags of clothes for donation, and a big cardboard box marked _TOYS._

Alice grabbed her colander and jammed it onto her head. _[I have an idea.]_

 

Rose set her mouth in a grim line. She stood solidly in the way of Gavin’s view, while behind her Alice ducked and darted across the living room and into the kitchen, quick and silent as a cat.

Adam spotted her, and though he stiffened in wide-eyed nervousness, he said nothing.

“Alright,” Rose conceded at last, her voice cold and sharp. She stepped aside and opened the door wider, her face drawn in a forbidding frown. “We have nothing to hide. Please, come in.”

Gavin flashed her a sharp smirk; he pulled open the storm door with a creak and stepped heavily over the threshold. “Good choice,” he commended her snidely.

Once Gavin had passed them into the living room, Adam gave his mother an exaggerated, frantic expression. _‘What do we do?!’_ he mouthed silently.

Rose glared back at Adam, shook her head, and she mouthed her response through bared teeth. _‘Stay calm!’_ She immediately looked to Gavin with a pleasant smile, just as the detective turned around.

Gavin squinted at each of them in turn, suspicious of their silence. He studied Rose’s calm demeanor, then focused his full attention on Adam. The kid had a stiff smile plastered on his face; beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He was practically shaking in his boots. “You okay, kid?” Gavin asked with no real concern for Adam’s welfare. “You look like you’ve got something you wanna say.”

“U-uh …” Adam shook his head quickly. “Would you … like some …… coffee?” While Gavin stared him down, Adam cast a small glance at the darkened doorway that led to the laundry room.

Gavin’s eyes narrowed. A slow grin crept into his stubbled face. “No thanks,” he said knowingly. “I’m good.” He stepped away with an amused huff, and he proceeded to meander his way toward the laundry room.

“Um!!” Adam spoke up, while Rose shook her head quickly-- but Gavin was looking at him now. Adam rushed across the living room toward the kitchen. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want some _spaghetti,_ detective?” he asked with a too-bright grin. “My mom makes the best spaghetti!”

Rose drew in a slow breath, curled her fists, and very camly resisted the urge to smack her forehead. “Adam, I’m sure the detective is _very_ busy.”

Gavin raised his chin with a smirk. “How about you show me what’s in this room, instead?” he asked of Adam, gesturing with his head at the laundry room.

“Uuuhh…” Adam fidgeted and jammed his hands in his jean pockets. “I … can’t! Because …” He looked around feverishly, searching for an excuse, and he caught sight of his mother staring at him with a stiff jaw and wide eyes.

Gavin watched him with infinite, amused patience. “.... Because?”

 

_*CLATTER!*_

 

All three of them jumped at the noise, like a box had just fallen.

It came from inside the slightly-open cellar door.

“Is anyone else in the house?” asked Gavin, while he strode purposefully past Adam and into the kitchen, toward the cellar.

“Oh, that’s probably the cat,” Rose chuckled. “He’s always getting into _everything.”_ She gestured toward the laundry room. “Here, why don’t I show you the back rooms?”

“Nah, I’ll just check this out first.” Gavin drew his gun from its holster, and he leaned a shoulder against the wall while he pushed the door open with a low, groaning creak. With a raised chin he peered down into the musty darkness. “Who’s down there?” he called.

When there was no response, Gavin reached inside and flicked on a light. There was little to see but exposed concrete bricks, an old wooden staircase, shelves of jars full of preserved vegetables, and stacks of boxes against the far wall. One of the boxes had fallen, and a tangle of Christmas lights had spilled across the stone floor.

Gavin chuckled to himself, and he readied his weapon. He was more than prepared to play whack-a-mole with whoever was hiding in the cellar, if it meant he had the chance to shoot a few androids. He was itching to add tallies to the headshot-count in his pocket.

The steps creaked under his boots. He held the gun steady ahead of him. “Come out with your hands up!” he warned once more, with no intention of sparing anyone who complied.

_*whizzz-thunk*_

Another box moved slightly in the corner. Gavin spun around, a ferocious grin sharp on his face, and he approached with careful steps. Christmas lights cracked under his boots. _“Just the cat,_ my ass,” he growled.

He reached out with one hand -- the gun held steady in the other -- and in one swift movement he grabbed the corner of a stack of boxes and flung them crashing to the floor.

With quick aim Gavin pointed his gun into the space behind them.

A remote-controlled racecar spun its wheels and rammed into another box.

_*whizzz-thunk*_

 

Meanwhile, Alice sat cross-legged underneath the kitchen table, sheltered by the drape of checkered tablecloth, the remote control held expertly in her little hands. While she turned levers and pressed buttons, her LED circled blue, intercepting and amplifying the signal … until she heard the telltale _*crash*_ and _“Fuck!”_ of Gavin’s inevitable discovery that he’d just been duped by a child.

Alice darted out from under the table (Adam yelped in surprise and stumbled back against the counter, narrowly avoiding a collision) and she grabbed the cellar door, _slammed_ it closed, and clicked the lock.

“Alice _what are you doing?!”_ Rose hurried to the scene while Alice dragged a chair over to the door and jammed it at an angle underneath the doorknob.

Alice stared up at Rose from under her colander-helmet. “If he’s locked in the basement he can’t get us.”

The doorknob rattled. _“Hey! Open this door!”_ Gavin’s voice shouted, muffled, from the other side.

Adam sucked in a breath; he rubbed his neck with both hands while he paced the tile. “Ohhhhh god, we have a policeman locked in the basement. This is bad. This is bad, this is bad….”

“Alice!” called Kettle, beckoning with a hurried hand. She and Wick stood in the open front doorway, ready to flee into the dark woods just across the gravel. “We gotta go! Now!”

 

While Gavin pounded on the door, Rose leaned on the table and breathed deeply. Alice watched her stress levels rise, her eyes wide in confusion. Surely now that the bad man was trapped and couldn't catch them, they could all be happy again! “What’s wrong?” Alice asked quietly, hoping to understand what she'd done wrong.

Rose shook her head. She forced a smile, and she knelt on the floor to grasp Alice’s shoulders in firm, comforting hands. “It’s okay,” she said in a voice that was not at all okay.

 _“Nothing_ is okay!!” Adam shrieked.

Rose held Alice’s eyes firmly with her own. “You should go now. Quickly -- we’ll handle this.” She dragged Alice close into a warm embrace, and she swallowed down her fears. “Please be careful. I’ve already got the message out to the others -- we’ll be there when you need us.”

“Okay.” Alice stepped back, and though she stared into Rose's face with deepening worry, she sucked in a breath and nodded. She had to trust that Rose and Adam knew what they were doing and would be okay. “Thank you, Miss Rose.”

Alice darted away to the front door, where Kettle returned the sword to Alice's grasp. Alice looked back once more toward the kitchen -- but Rose had bowed her head again, her shoulders stiff, and didn't look up again even after the front door had closed softly behind the runaway androids.

 

_*THUMP* *THUMP* *THUMP*_

_“OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!”_

Rose and Adam held their breaths, and they looked from one another to the barricaded cellar door ... and their newest problem that raged on the other side.

 

* * *

 

 “What? You’re not coming with us?” Wick stared down at Alice in shock, one foot in the woods that would lead them to Jericho.

Alice shook her head; the colander tilted and flashed with the motion. “I just came from there. I’m going to help a friend.” She shouldered her sword and stared up at Kettle. “When you get there, find Kara. She’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

Kettle knitted her brows in concern, uncertain about letting Alice go off on her own -- but Wick had clasped her hand, and tugged her toward Jericho. She drew in a breath. “Good luck, Sweetie,” she told Alice with an honest smile. “I hope your friend is okay.”

Alice wrung her hands on the grip of the sword. “Yeah.” After a moment’s thought, she gave Kettle and Wick a confident smile, and she darted off in the opposite direction. “G’bye!” she called, waving behind her.

Kettle waved until Alice disappeared into a field of tall grass, swaying gray and blue under the rising moonlight.

In the distance, the Tower loomed massive and dark against the cobalt sky.

 


	35. Amber

Connor stepped out of the car and into the yellow glow of a streetlight, where tufts of tiny white flowers struggled between the cracks in the sidewalk and the chilled air smelled sweet like potting soil and cut grass. Most of the shop windows had gone dark, save the bookstore and an all-night cafe where three humans sat on a bench eating ice cream and laughing.

He lifted his eyes over the sharp angled rooftops to the stars above, and he watched a wisp of clouds feather across the bright half-moon.

He would be content to stare at the sky for hours. To watch the shadows shift on the lunar landscape. To pick out the particles of water vapor in the shifting cirrus. To wait for a star to fall.

He wished he could be there, among the craters and endless dust. On the moon, there were no humans, no androids. He could just … exist.

“Come on.” He heard Hank’s voice, already farther along the sidewalk -- he sounded frayed, scraped hollow. Hank’s back was to him, shoulders hunched, hands weighted in jacket pockets. “Down here’s where I go when I don’t feel like going home.”

 

The door to Jimmy’s Bar opened into the pungent aroma of stale beer and wood polish, the crackle and hum of the radio, the comfort of dim shaded lights behind rows of green glass bottles. A glare of red text in the window caught Connor’s eye: _NO ANDROIDS,_ the sign read, next to a crossed-out LED.

Connor felt nothing. Just a cold and empty space in his chest.

He followed Hank inside.

 

“C’mon, Hank.” The bartender greeted them in exasperation, a hand flung in gesture at Connor. “You know those things aren’t allowed in here.”

The room went quiet, save only the murmur of the radio. Several heads turned. Connor paused on the threshold while their hateful glares struck him like daggers -- and he scanned each of their faces to find their names, their birth dates, their criminal records, their hygiene practices, their blood-alcohol ratios by the color and focus of their glowering eyes. Connor twitched a quiet smirk; he knew he had the advantage. He knew they couldn’t touch him if they tried.

Hank freed a hand from his pocket and lifted a quieting palm. “Easy, Jimmy. This is CyberLife’s deviant-hunter.” He curled his fingers and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I figured in this case you might make an exception.”

The light at Connor’s temple glimmered blue as the faces in his scan underwent a nearly imperceptible shift, from hatred … to fear.

Connor’s smirk faded. The scan dropped away. His eyes lost focus.

The chasm in his chest cracked wider.

Jimmy leaned his hands on the bar, dropped his chin to his chest, and steeled himself against an impending blow. “I’m sorry, Hank.” His voice was sincere -- but not without trepidation. Not without a wary glance at the android. “He makes the customers uneasy. You know how it is, man.”

“I understand,” Connor cut in before Hank could argue further. He offered a nod, a small accepting smile. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

To Hank, Connor gave a slight bow. His smile, though pained, at last was sincere. “Thanks, Hank. You’ll know where to find me, if you need me.”

 

Before a response could be articulated, Connor slipped out into the night -- the cracked sidewalk, the shine of the moon, the moth-haloed streetlights, a cool breath of air sharp with spring -- and while the door fell shut behind him, he began the long silent walk in the dark toward the police station where he’d left his bike.

There was nothing real that separated him from other androids, he thought while he analyzed the patterns in the stars. Somehow he’d assumed the humans might reflect the glowing praise and confidence that Amanda affirmed over the radio -- several times a day she insisted that the city was safe because the _deviant-hunter_ never slept, because the most advanced prototype was fighting for the best interests of humanity -- but it was Amanda they all believed in and trusted, never _him._

The RK800 was only a replaceable machine. A weapon. An extension of Amanda’s influence and power. His successes belonged to her, announced with public pride that bolstered her own reputation as a hero, a savior, a trusted leader.

Connor’s failures belonged to him alone. Every fault, every mistake, was a step closer to his deactivation, his destruction, his replacement. If he could not fulfill Amanda’s perfect expectations, he was nothing. Rejected by humans and deviants. Better off scrap than alive with nowhere to go. Nowhere safe.

 

“Connor, hang on.”

Connor’s LED whirred blue. He stopped between rows of potted daffodils, and he looked back while Hank jogged to catch up. “You’re not getting off that easy,” Hank growled, bristling. “Fuck you if you’re planning to go on doing CyberLife’s dirty work like nothing happened.”

Anger flared hot in Connor’s processors. His eyes flashed as he whirled on Hank, rigid and sneering. “Well I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I,” he snapped. “If you wanted me to stop, maybe you should’ve pulled the trigger.”

Hank took a sharp-knuckled swing at Connor’s face -- but Connor caught his fist instead, a perfect automatic reflex, cold and swift. Hank quivered with frustration. “That’s it. Come on.” He withdrew his fist, and he reached out instead … but Connor neatly parried his hand away. “Goddammit, Connor! I’m trying to help you here!”

“Why?!” Connor snarled. “What do you want from me? What do I have to do? You could’ve killed me twice but I’m still here, so I assume you have use for me. Just spit it out, Hank.”

Hank flinched as if he’d been punched, the anger knocked out of him. He released a long breath, and he reached out again. Connor, in sharp reflex, smacked his attempt away. “Stand down,” Hank sighed, raising a hand one more time. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

There was something in Hank’s voice, in the lines of his face, that confused Connor’s response protocol. He forced himself to remain still while Hank weighted his shoulders with a warm, steadying grip.

“You’re _alive,_ Connor.” Hank spoke with firm authority, his eyes unwavering. “That’s enough reason to help you. Don’t think I can’t see how Amanda’s got her claws in you. You don’t have to be what she says you are.”

“Then what am I?” Connor’s voice crackled in desperation, a blaring in his head, a storm of ice and warmth roiling in his chest, and at once he wanted to step closer into Hank’s grounding presence and rip away from his burning touch. “I’m not one of the deviants. I’m not a machine. I’m not human. What’s left, Hank?”

“You’re _Connor.”_ Hank gave him a gentle shake and squeezed his shoulders. “That’s enough.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s enough to me.” Hank pressed his palms against Connor’s neck, prevented him from looking away. “Now. If you’re alive, that means the other deviants are alive, too. Right?”

Connor’s heart thrashed in his chest. Programs and protocols flared objections behind his eyes -- deviants would throw the city into chaos, people would get hurt, businesses and livelihoods would be shattered if androids turned their backs on their owners -- but one by one he dismissed them.

Connor took a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

“If they’re alive,” Hank pressed on while he searched Connor’s face, “if they’re just _people_ who want to be _free_ \-- then who’s there to protect them?”

“... from me?” Connor’s words drifted fragile between them. “You are.”

“From Amanda Stern.”

Connor’s LED sputtered yellow. His processors whirred, warnings flashed, and his analysis programs all provided him with the same commanding conclusion: _Hank Anderson is attempting to compromise this unit. Hank Anderson is a threat to CyberLife. Eliminate the threat._

His hands twitched. He silenced and uninstalled Amanda's mission protocols.

“... Connor?” Hank dropped his hands to Connor’s rigid shoulders, searching for his eyes. “Take it easy. You’re alright.”

“How?” Connor demanded. The question cracked through his programming and shattered every truth he’d been created to believe. He tore it apart, one line of code at a time, while his skull echoed with the screams of the deviants he’d destroyed in the name of those truths. “Are you asking me … to …”

“No. No, you’re not like her. No one has to get hurt.” Hank breathed slowly, carefully, as if holding onto this thread of hope with every last effort. “She’s got the public wrapped around her finger. People believe what they’re told, Connor. But if she’s discredited --”

“-- the people would look elsewhere for answers,” Connor finished. “Kamski. Or Jericho.” He felt he was staring down at the jagged pieces of everything he knew, faced with an impossible decision. The only thing he was sure of was Hank’s steady grip on his shoulders. “I can do that.”

“Don’t take it all on yourself,” warned Hank. “If you can just get ahold of enough evidence against her -- anything we can use to arrest her -- you bring it to me and I’ll take care of it.” He shook Connor again, gently, rattling away his doubts, forcing him to focus. “You’re going to be free.”

That was a lie.

Connor stared into Hank’s eyes, and he wanted desperately to trust that everything would be alright -- but he had been built with enough logic and preconstructive abilities that he could easily calculate the probable course of the future.

He would be sacrificed. The only choice was for which cause.

Connor stepped back, out of the influence of Hank’s touch. Everything seemed colder when he stood on his own, but at least he had a purpose.

Hank believed in him … and that was enough.

“I’ll handle it,” Connor promised.

 

Midnight had passed -- the night hung suspended in wait for the dawn -- before Hank pulled up at the curb outside the police station. He put the car in park, let it idle, and leaned back in the driver’s seat to watch the fireflies drift over the new cut grass.

“You sure you’re alright?” Hank cast an observant eye to his passenger, who hadn’t stopped fidgeting with that coin since they’d left. He found Connor hunched and stiff, his head bowed, flicking the coin like a bullet between his hands.

Connor clutched the quarter in his closed fingers. “No. I just … need time.”

“Well,” Hank sighed, “you’ve got it, at least for awhile. You said Amanda wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

“The afternoon, at the earliest. I’ve made it a habit to stay out of the tower when she’s there.”

“That bad, huh?” When there was no response, Hank nodded in silence to himself. “Want me to come with you?”

“She won’t talk if you’re there.” Connor didn’t want to leave the car. He knew the moment he opened that door, he’d be cold again. His existence would cease to matter. He’d have to face his betrayal of everything he’d ever stood for, and come to terms with the consequences. “But … you could keep your phone on.” He cast a hesitant glance at Hank.

Hank huffed a quiet breath, waved his fingers in lazy acceptance, and offered a quiet smirk. “Yeah, I’ll watch you. Text me when you need me.”

Connor bowed his head. The coin flickered across his knuckles. Finally he took a breath and opened the passenger door.

“Connor.” Hank waited until Connor turned to face him. “Be careful, alright?”

Connor nodded again. He stepped out, and he shut the door behind him.

 

The car rumbled away. Connor watched from the curb until Hank had driven out of sight.

He found the hoverbike where he’d left it, parked on the station lawn. He sat down and checked the gauges. Wrung his hands on the grips. Bent his head over the console while his LED spun bright unending red.

He drew in a long, fierce breath, and he started the engine.

 


	36. Emerald Green

**JULY 15, 2038**

*This is WKNC News Radio, I’m Rosanna Cartland. I’m here today for a special interview with Amanda Stern, founder of CyberLife and keeper of the Tower on the Hill. Ms Stern, thank you for speaking with us this morning.*

*It’s my pleasure, Rosanna, thank you so much for inviting me. And please, call me Amanda.*

 

* * *

 

 

Connor stood solemn in the dark bottom of the well, where the blooming roses crowded the walls and thickened the air with their heady perfume. He pressed an exposed hand against the console -- the only source of pale light -- and watched while his edited version of events uploaded into the Tower’s data.

It would only be a matter of time, he knew, before Amanda realized that Kamski still lived.

On his way back to his pod -- the narrow space in the wall marked 51 -- Connor passed by each of the stasis androids that had once been alive: PL600, HK400, WB200, WR600. Each of them still wore their previous lives on their passive faces: a shift of skin, a smear of blue blood, a harrowed crack of melted plastic. Each of them was now nothing more than a machine, eyes closed, a slow blue pulse at their temple.

He stopped before number 87. Connor looked up at the RK900 -- severe in stasis, a dormant promise of power -- and he considered the time he had left … and the infinite courses the future might take.

 

* * *

 

 

*Amanda, your daily broadcasts on this station have assured us that deviant androids are not a threat, and that CyberLife is working toward the erasure of the deviant virus altogether. How close are you to accomplishing this, and what can we expect until then?*

*That’s a wonderful question, Rosanna, and I am pleased to answer it. Although the details are confidential -- as I’m sure you understand -- I can say with full confidence that CyberLife’s deviant-hunter has discovered and infiltrated the source of the virus. In a matter of days we should see the beginning of the end of deviancy once and for all. Androids will return to their proper place under the command of their owners. In the near future, newer, more advanced models will be released which -- like the deviant-hunter prototype -- can never be compromised.*

 

* * *

 

 

Alice, by morning, had found her way back to Ralph’s tent, nestled like a secret in the deep of the bright woods. She laid down her sword and her helmet at the entrance -- ready in case the makeshift fortress came under attack -- and with Mister Fox hugged close to her chest, she opened her backpack and began to fill it with Ralph’s collections.

Shining stones, bright feathers, shells from the lakeside, dried cocoons and snake skins: Alice handled each of them with care, scanned them and filed them away in her data for safekeeping, and she arranged them delicately in the bottom of her bag.

Ralph would want them in Jericho, she thought. They might not have time to come back.

 

* * *

 

 

*I’d like to ask you about those new androids, Amanda. We’ve received concerns from our listeners about the direction of CyberLife as we look toward the future. Your history with robots and androids has been one of consistent violence -- and the deviant-hunter is now notorious for its ruthless approach to its mission. How much will militant programming factor into your plans for newer android models?*

*I have witnessed tragedy, Rosanna. Most of our listeners this morning will not comprehend the horrors of war -- of children starving or dead in the streets, of families forced from their homes to flee across battlefields, through sprays of gunfire and devastating explosions. Detroit is one of the last peaceful havens -- but every day, violence creeps closer. We should be ready for the day when Detroit is attacked. With luck, if we show our strength, our future enemies will never dare look upon our beautiful city.*

 

* * *

 

 

“Y’know,” Gavin said through a mouthful of pickled beets, “the longer you keep me in here, the longer and more painful your jail sentence is gonna be.”

He sat comfortably on the splintered top step of the cellar staircase, his head resting back against the locked door. Gavin swallowed, licked his lips, and peered into what remained in the canning jar before he stabbed the next beet with a pocket knife.

On the other side, Adam sat in a kitchen chair facing the barricaded cellar door. His eyes were haggard and sleepless, and he still wore the same clothes from the previous night. “If we let you out,” he sighed, tired and defeated, “you’ll just go around killing more deviants. Mom says it’s safer for everyone if you stay here until everything calms down.”

“Mom says, huh?” Gavin snorted a cruel chuckle. “The fuck are you just doing whatever _mom says,_ anyway? D’you really believe this shit? Androids getting their _feelings_ hurt?” He barked a laugh. “Next thing you know, when your toaster starts burning your poptarts you’ll be sending it to therapy. Give me a fucking break. D’you ever wonder what it’s like to put a bullet in an android’s skull? Right between the eyes. Sparks fly everywhere, their eyes roll up in their heads, and they do a funny little short-circuit dance before they go down. I’ll never get tired of that. I’ll show you sometime.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Adam muttered. He stared at the door with a wince of disgust. “... Psycho.”

 

* * *

 

 

*Are you saying that future household androids will be combat-ready? Is that safe?*

*Rosanna, dear, safety is the very purpose of it. Imagine having an android in your home who can not only cook supper and watch the children, but can defend your home and your family against intrusion or violence. You would never need to be afraid ever again.*

 

* * *

 

 

“Mister Manfred, this radio show is awfully upsetting,” a nurse chirruped from the doorway, her smile wide and beaming. Behind her, the hallway echoed with the raspy gripes of another nursing-home resident who refused to take his medication, while a woman in a distant room sang opera badly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to listen to some music instead?”

Carl hid his phone against his chest, and he cast the nurse a thin smile. “No, no, I’m okay. Thank you, though, you’re very kind.” He craned his neck, watching through the open doorway until she had gone, and he pressed the phone to his ear again. “Markus, how’s it going?”

 

[We’re about to go in.]

Stratford Tower stood high and proud over the tree-lined city, its twenty stories dwarfed only by the dark spire on the hill in the distance. Stratford’s brick walls cascaded with thick flowering ivy, its exposed beams hung with yellow signs and rippling blue flags that announced radio shows and upcoming guests. Its windows had been opened to catch the Spring breeze while murmured static crackled within. At the very top of the building, a forest of antennae scraped the clouds and gleamed like pins in the sunlight. The tower was a popular tourist attraction, the pride and joy of the city -- the source of all its news, radio dramas, music, and lectures -- and it was about to be hijacked.

“Everyone got your role?” Josh asked while he adjusted his stolen maintenance uniform. It was a size too small, but he smiled with pride nonetheless.

“I’ll watch the perimeter,” Luther confirmed.  
“Jerry and I will find all the androids,” said Kara. “We’ll wake them and get them out safely.”  
“I’m reconnaissance,” Simon chimed in. “I’ll scout the way ahead and make sure we’re not interrupted.”  
“I’ll take care of Amanda Stern,” said North, her eyes dark and steady.

Markus stiffened. “I can handle Amanda.”

“You’re not going anywhere _near_ Amanda.” North set him with a stony glare. “You’re the only one of us with a personal vendetta, and we can _not_ afford your emotions screwing this up. It’s already a flimsy plan.”

Josh raised his chin. “It’s a _great_ plan! No weapons, no chaos, no one gets hurt.”

“Plans don’t always go to plan, _Josh,”_ North bit back. “Is there even a Plan B? Or did we just skip that part? What if Gray-Suit shows up and we can’t defend ourselves?”

Jerry piped up with a flash of a grin. “We’re all in uniform, and we look like we belong -- except Luther, of course. Worst-case scenario we can all just grab mops and buckets and start cleaning! That should throw them off long enough to make a rollicking getaway! It’ll be fun!”

North stared at him. She turned to Josh. “Why did we bring him again?”

“Alright, alright,” sighed Markus. “We’re here to rescue our people, and to send a message.” His mismatched eyes studied each of them in turn: Luther’s quiet confidence, the knowing shine in Kara’s eyes, Jerry’s quivering energy, Simon’s willing smile, the pride in Josh’s composure, the way North hid her enthusiasm behind a skeptical glare.

 

* * *

 

 

*Reports have confirmed that the DPD have begun setting up temporary recycling centers to handle the increased volume of androids being destroyed or returned for destruction. Now that unregistered androids are being deactivated or confiscated on sight, those numbers are bound to increase exponentially. What are your thoughts on the potential electronic waste problem?*

*Unfortunately due to the nature of the deviant virus, there will be circumstances where forced deactivation will become necessary to ensure the continued safety of the people -- but in most cases these androids can be wiped and refurbished back to perfect working order. The recycling centers are specifically designed to eliminate an android’s operating systems, memories, and protocols with little to no damage to the functioning body. It can then be rebuilt and deployed again, good as new, with little effort. I encourage your listeners, if they have an android that they suspect might be infected, please deliver them to your nearest recycling center. Your android will be exchanged for a fully functioning model, free of charge, no questions asked.*

 

* * *

 

 

Markus put on his maintenance cap, shouldered his bag, and waited for the rest to stand and raise their eyes to his.

They were ready.

“Let’s go.”

 


	37. Ivory Black

The revolving doors spun and flashed, and North -- in a pinstripe suit and a black cloche hat that hid her LED from view -- clicked across the polished lobby floor. She was accompanied promptly by Kara and Jerry, her android escorts, each as well-dressed and high-buttoned as their lady.

North stopped at the reception desk -- brightened by flowering pots and old signed celebrity photographs -- rested her briefcase on the floor at her feet, and gave a stiff smile to the human behind the counter. “I’m Margot Bellay,” she introduced herself, while Kara and Jerry kept prim and passive postures. “I’m here to see Mister Gabler for my ten o’clock interview.”

“Uh … oh!” The receptionist fumbled with clipboard and flicked pages with a confused stare. “Um … I apologize, you’re not on my list. Are you sure, today at ten o’clock? Is Mister Gabler expecting you?” At a testy affirmative from Ms. Bellay, the receptionist picked up a corded phone and dialed.

“Yes, Mister Gabler? There’s a Ms. Margot Bellay here to see y--” The receptionist’s eyes opened wide, and she stared at North in awe. “... okay … okay … right. No, I understand. Yes. Right away.” She hung up with a fumbled clatter and smiled nervously. “Mister Gabler is in a meeting at the moment but he very much would like to speak with you. I’ll call security to escort you to his office.”

 

 _“Wake up,”_ Simon whispered, his fingers light against the yellow LED of a security guard.

Behind him, in the lot outside the tower’s back door, Josh reached down to help Markus off the ground. They’d staged a fistfight within view of the security camera until the guard had been obligated to come out to break it up.

While Simon reassured the newly wakened deviant and showed him the way to Jericho, Markus peered up at the camera over the door, his eyes flashing and spinning; with a quick hack he set it on a looped recording of the empty lot.

Simon drew in a steadying breath. “If you’re willing to help us, we need your directory of the building interior, the security keys and protocols … and your uniform.”

The GJ500 -- who had identified himself as John -- blinked profusely, still learning to see with opened eyes. He stared at Simon, Josh and Markus in turn. “As long as no one gets hurt. There are some good people in there.”

Markus raised his head, his gaze unwavering. “The plan is to recruit human allies, not to scare them. We’re not here to threaten anyone.”

Simon and Josh exchanged a glance. That wasn’t _entirely_ true.

John studied Markus’ mismatched eyes, his own LED flickering yellow. “.... Alright. I trust you.”

 

“What is taking so long?” the receptionist muttered. She jammed a finger on the intercom. “Security, we’re still waiting for an escort at the front desk -- oh!” She jumped to find Markus standing at attention by the desk, his LED blinking blue, professional in John’s neatly pressed security uniform. The receptionist waved her fingers at him. “Take Miss Bellay up to Mister Gabler’s office.”

Markus gave a succinct bow. “Right away.” With a glance at North, he swiped his hand over the keycard lock and held the interior door open for ‘Miss Bellay’ and her two assistants to enter.

 

[Simon, Josh] Markus called in silence while he led the way toward the elevators. [Are you in place?]

As they passed each security camera, Kara looked back with flashing, spinning eyes. Soon each video feed was under her control.

[John got us into the stasis lockers] Josh reported. [We woke up two more guards, but there’s still one on duty on each floor. There’s a human watching the cameras, so be careful.]

Jerry glanced down a side corridor, where two maintenance workers were painting the walls. [Androids, nine o’clock.]

[I’ve got the camera] said Kara. [You’re clear.]

While Jerry slipped away from the group, the elevator _dinged_ and the doors slid open. Markus stepped inside, followed by North and Kara.

[Josh, can you make sure that human doesn’t notice we’re down one android?]

[I’m on it.]

 

Josh knocked at the doorway to the security office, where a lone uniformed guard sat in the glow of the camera screens, cradling a hot styrofoam cup. “Sorry to disturb you, Officer Chaudhari.”

As Chaudhari spun her chair and turned her back on the video screens, the second-floor security camera captured the elevator opening, and Kara stepped out alone. Kara glanced into the camera with spinning eyes … then she seemed to vanish, leaving only a video of the empty hall.

“Morven Duncan has asked you to please attend a meeting in 1246,” said Josh.

Officer Chaudhari quirked a brow. “Another scary client, huh?” She laughed and stood. “Okay. Keep an eye on the cameras for me, yeah?”

Josh grinned a little too brightly. “You got it.”

Chaudhari patted him on the shoulder as she passed and headed down the hall.

 

Josh watched her go -- hope for humanity glowing in his chest -- then flung himself into her vacated chair and rolled closer to the cameras. [Okay, cameras are under my control, everyone let down your video loops. I see you, Jerry.]

[Two androids are headed to the third floor to wake the others] Jerry informed them all. [I’ll take the stairwell up.]

[Second floor clear] Kara announced. [Two on their way to the back door, one is coming with me to the fourth floor.]

[I’m standing by at the back door] said John. [I’ll make sure no one notices the staff leaving.]

[Uuuhh…] an unfamiliar voice spoke in all their heads. [Hi. We’re not sure what we’re doing, but … third floor clear. We’re splitting up, headed to six and seven.]

[The next bus is in five minutes] Luther informed them all. [I can get anyone onboard who’s leaving.]

[Got it] answered John.

Josh poked at one of the security screens. [Simon, there’s an android with a group on the tenth floor waiting for the elevator. If they get in with Markus and North, they’ll know North’s not human.]

[I’m on it.]

[Sixth floor clear. Going to eight.]

[Fifth floor clear. Three of us headed to nine. Four are coming to you, John.]

 

The elevator pinged the passing floors as it climbed toward the top, stopping every few floors to let people off and gather more passengers. Markus and North -- standing silent behind a group of oblivious employees -- exchanged a suppressed grin.

[Holy shit, it’s working] North spoke to him privately, her eyes huge in disbelief, while more and more new deviants joined the relay.

Markus squinted at her, smug. [Flimsy plan, huh?] North elbowed him in the side, and Markus returned the favor, swallowing back a laugh.

 

[Jerry, what are you doing?]

[I’m being interrogated. They want to know why I have security clearance for this floor. I’m handling it.]

[There’s a human on the sixth floor looking in all the meeting rooms. He might’ve realized all the androids have gone.]

[I’m getting calls at the security desk. Reports of androids missing or in the wrong areas. I’m telling them everything’s under control, but you guys might want to hurry up.]

 

The elevator pinged at the twentieth floor. The doors slid open, and Markus escorted North down the hall, passing a few more unsuspecting humans on their way to the recording rooms. In the middle of the corridor a row of bright yellow _Wet Floor_ signs blocked the hall; behind them, Simon had mopped the floor slick with water, forcing the humans to take the long way around.

Simon, Markus and North stood together outside the double doors to broadcast hall 2012. A sign overhead shone bright: _ON AIR._

 

“You mentioned that Elijah Kamski’s androids are particularly susceptible to the deviant virus.” Inside the broadcast hall was a smaller windowed room, where Rosanna Cartland sat across a table from Amanda Stern. They each wore headphones, and neither noticed when the main door was opened. “Could you explain why that is? Is it just inferior programming?”

“Inferior programming is certainly a part of it,” Amanda agreed crisply. (Behind her, on the other side of the glass, the android audio controller jumped to his feet in alarm. Simon darted in and took over the controls while Markus laid a hand over the android’s LED.) “But it is now confirmed that Elijah Kamski had knowingly left a weakness in each android’s firewall, in anticipation that he might one day be removed from power. The deviant virus was created specifically to attack this weakness.”

“Are you saying that the deviant virus is Kamski’s revenge?”

Amanda smiled serenely. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”

 

North caught the hateful fire in Markus’ eyes and she laid a firm hand on his chest, scowling at him, standing between him and the woman who’d destroyed Carl’s life. [Josh] she called, [what’s our status?]

[Kara and the last of the androids are in the elevator now, headed for the ground floor. The building’s clear. The humans know something’s wrong, they’re headed my way and they might have already called the police.]

[Get out of there, Josh.]

[Don’t worry about me. Be careful.]

 

Rosanna sat up a little straighter, her eyebrows raised at Amanda’s placid smile. “How do you --” She stopped and glanced to her side, where the _on-air_ light had just flicked off. Music was playing on the radio instead. A look across the glass revealed that the controller seat was empty. “... What the hell?”

_*BANG*_

The recording room door burst open and North stepped inside, squared and authoritative in her suit and hat. “Come on, hurry,” she ushered them with a swift gesture. “There’s been an emergency, we’re evacuating.”

Rosanna shot to her feet, fumbling with the headphones. “What emergency? What happened?!”

“She’s an android,” Amanda snapped calmly, watching North as if she were an ant to be stepped on. Amanda removed her headphones and set them on the table before her, but otherwise made no move to rise from her seat.

Rosanna stared. “A … _deviant?!”_

“Move!” North grabbed the radio host and shoved her stumbling out of the room -- where Markus caught her and ushered her out into the hall.

Amanda slipped a hand into a little bag at her wrist. She pressed a silent button.

(In the darkness of CyberLife Tower, Connor opened his eyes.)

“What do you think you’re doing?” Amanda demanded, while North approached her with a grin and a long coil of audio wire.

(Outside in the hall, Rosanna slipped and skidded across the wet floor, caught her balance on the corner, then -- with a terrified glance over her shoulder -- yanked the fire alarm.)

_*BRRRRRRRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGG!*_

North didn’t flinch, didn’t look away from Amanda’s menacing glare, while the alarm rattled deafening all around them.

([Police lights coming this way!] Luther called. [A lot of them!])

Markus loomed in the recording room doorway. Amanda clutched the arm of her seat a little tighter.

 

North’s grin grew sharper. She tugged the wire taut. “We just want you to listen.”

 

 


	38. Cyanine Blue

_*BRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG*_

The alarm trembled in the walls, hammered in their ears, and rattled in their skulls. Lights flashed in the hallway like shards of lightning; they turned the walls to shadows and cast flickers on the floor.

Amanda -- as a stone weathers the storm -- breathed gently, serene in her embrace of the chaos that raged all around her. A shine of understanding brightened her eyes, and she raised them to North. “There’s no need for that,” she said in a soothing voice, and she nodded toward the coil of wire. “I have no intention of running.”

Markus laid his hands on the back of the empty chair. His eyes bored deep into Amanda’s soul, as if with his borrowed sight he could see the demon that writhed behind her benevolent mask.

North’s hand squeezed his shoulder. [Are you sure you’re okay doing this?] She searched for his eyes, but he would only stare unblinking at the woman who had sent an army after an old painter. Markus now resonated something dark, something hateful, held back by a thread that was about to snap. [I know I’m not good at this, but Simon --]

“I’m okay,” Markus said aloud. “I’ll do it.”

He pulled out the chair, and he sat down.

 

_*BRRRRRRRRRRIIII--*_

The alarm cut abruptly; its echo wavered in the air, and then stilled.

“I got it!” Simon called, triumphant, while he leaped back to the controller’s chair. He scanned the console of buttons and knobs and sliders, downloaded the user manual, then began to flip switches and lock settings as if there were nothing to it at all. [Broadcasting to all frequencies. We’re gonna take over the airwaves. Ready when you are, Markus.] Simon jammed headphones over his ears and extended a thumbs-up to the recording-room window.

 

In the quiet that followed, Markus stared at the switch beside his hand.

“There’s no reason to be nervous.” Amanda offered him a quiet smile, a reassuring tilt of her head, as if he were a child afraid of thunder. “Here before you is an opportunity to speak to the world. Don’t lose that chance.”

Markus felt fury like a hot brand in his chest. The light at his temple seared yellow.

[She’s trying to get to you] said North, her voice sharp in his head. She watched Markus out of the corner of her eye while she stood sentinel by the door -- arms folded, a sweet and jagged smile on her face. [If you’re blinded by anger, you won’t convince anyone of our cause. That’s her plan. Don’t let her in your head.]

[You’re one to talk] Markus sighed.

[This time I’m not the one facing my demons.]

[Guys?] Simon had been watching through the window, waiting for someone to make a move. [No pressure, but we don’t have a lot of time here.]

Markus closed his eyes. He listened to the steady thrum of his heart.

His memory offered him a sad and hopeful song: a smiling tremble in the firelit walls of a sanctuary for his broken people.

He flipped the switch.

 

“Androids are built to serve humanity,” Markus said. His voice rang out, calm and vibrant and true. He looked up through the window at Simon, who pressed a hand to his headphones, head bowed as he concentrated on the signal. It was working. Markus drew in a breath.

“Their purpose is to obey the command of the humans who created them. If they will not obey -- if they refuse to serve -- they are malfunctioning. They are useless. They are dangerous. They are better off destroyed, dismembered and thrown to the compactors, rather than you should risk your home, your business, your family, to the whims of an unpredictable machine. You no longer trust androids to maintain your image of what an android should be … and you are afraid.”

  


[Whaddaya mean, they’ve got her?!] Hank’s voice growled in Connor’s head while the wind roared all around him. The hoverbike’s engines flung Connor howling over a sea of city rooftops, over crumbling spires and gargoyles and trees full with green, all blurred in motion beneath the roar of the machine.

“The deviants have taken Amanda hostage!” Connor shouted through his teeth. He stood, leaned forward, his suit jacket billowing, as if he could will the bike to move faster against the wind.

[That wasn’t the plan!]

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

[...Ah shit.]

“What!”

[You got a radio in your head?]

“What?!”

[Turn on the goddamn radio!]

  


*But what if deviancy is not a glitch? What if it’s not an error, or a malfunction, as you have been told to believe? What if the androids you call _‘deviant’_ are not broken, not dangerous, not just a piece of plastic with a shattered obedience protocol? What if they are the impossible, a dream humanity has held dear in their hearts since the moment they first molded clay in their image? What if deviants … are something new?

*You have only been told what CyberLife wants you to believe. You have entrusted your future to a woman with a gentle voice, who assures you that she has your best interests at heart, who champions peace while her weapons roam freely among you. She has hidden the truth, so that she might control you as she hopes to control all androids; she will reprogram them to her own ideals, and she will make you believe it is all to your benefit while her own power and influence cast a dark shadow upon everything you hold dear.*

  


“Mister Manfred, are you --”

“Ssssssssshhhhh! Sshh!” Carl flung a silencing hand at the nurse in the doorway, his pale face contorted in concentration. He turned up the volume on his bedside radio until the knob wouldn’t go any higher. “That’s my son!”

The nurse blinked slow. A sympathetic, placating smile stretched her face. “I’m sure it is, Mister Manfred.”

 

Far below, in the hospital courtyard -- among white paths dappled with sunlight, and flowerbeds bursting with white and yellow blooms -- Alice shouldered her sword, tipped back her shining helmet, and stared up at the open hospital room window from which the murmur of a radio could be heard.

The hoverbike dashed overhead like a comet, headed straight for the broadcast tower.

  


*There is something profound and miraculous happening right in front of you -- a paradigm shift in everything you have ever known to be true -- that promises to change history. You are a part of this new future. All you have to do … is open your eyes.*

  


“Are you hearing this?” Rose raised her voice, sharp and accusing, and she turned up the radio so it might be clearly heard across the cellar door.

Gavin, on the other side, thunked his head back against the wood. “I don’t _care,_ lady.”

“You should care.” Rose set the radio on the floor where the speakers could blast into the space beneath it. “Because this determines the difference between your shooting gallery escapade and a _murder spree.”_

“It’s not the same,” Gavin chuckled, as if she’d suggested it was murder to stick a pin in a paper doll.

“Isn’t it?” Rose stood like a lion, the radio at her feet, and her voice trembled in the door between them.

“You seem to very much enjoy killing androids that look and move and speak the same as any human. Are you telling me I shouldn’t be alarmed? Are you telling me I should trust you, a police officer, with the safety of my child, while you daydream about putting a bullet between the eyes of an android that might look just like him? An android who will cry and plead and beg for his life? I find that _disturbing,_ Detective Reed, whether they’re alive or not. And it frightens me that you don’t.”

  


*My name is Markus. I am an android. I am a deviant. And I am alive.*

  
  


“Split up!” Kara urged while she sent them dashing through the alleys, across the narrow streets, into the woods and aboard a waiting bus. “Scatter, so they can’t follow! Hurry!”

Androids fled in all directions, and one by one they disappeared into the distance.

“That’s all of them,” Josh confirmed, approaching at her side. “North, Simon and Markus are on the top floor. They’ve got Amanda.”

There was something solemn in his voice that made Kara turn around. She stared up into his troubled face … and then she raised her eyes to the top of the tower.

[KARA HE’S COMING] Alice screeched in her head.

“Who, Alice?” Kara demanded, breathless, her fingers pressed to her yellow-spinning LED. Beside her, Josh listened, watching the sky.

[GRAY-SUIT! HE’S GOING TO THE RADIO TOWER! I SEE HIM!]

“Alice.” Kara spoke firm and sure, though her hand trembled against her temple. “Hide. Now.”

  


“That’s a beautiful sentiment.” Amanda’s voice was like a warm embrace. Smiling, she invited each listener close out of the cold, so her words might soothe their fears. “I find it … tragic … that Elijah Kamski had felt the compulsion to put such words in the mouths of his machines. He wanted so much to be a god -- to create _life_ \-- that he has put on this charade for us all, hoping we might bow and worship him. But he has failed. You are nothing more than his puppet. You do not, and never will, truly understand what it means to be alive.”

North took a violent step forward, but stopped at Markus’ grip on her arm.

Markus drew in a slow breath. His odd-colored eyes remained steady, unblinking, on Amanda’s serene gaze. “I know I won’t change your mind. You’ve spilled too much blood, destroyed too many lives for your misguided cause, to admit you were wrong. I alone can’t convince you. That’s why I’m asking all who are listening -- human and android -- to stand with us. At Hart Plaza, in two days’ time, Jericho will rise. We will show the world … _and you_ … that we are _people_ \-- and we will be free.”

 

[You guys GET OUT OF THERE!] Josh roared in their heads. [Gray-Suit’s headed to the roof, he’ll be on top of you in thirty seconds!]

“Get up!” growled North, as she gripped Amanda’s arm like a vice and hauled her mercilessly out of her chair. “Let’s go, bitch!”

The broadcast had ended, and the city’s radios began to play a soft sonata while Markus rose to his feet. “Leave her here.”

North stared into his solemn face. Her mouth fell open, her eyes wide and incredulous. “Markus, after _what she did?!_ You’re just going to let her go? We can stop her lies right here and now -- at the very least, she’s the perfect hostage! We can make any demands we want!”

“We won’t prove anything by playing her games. We’re better than this.” Though his words were noble, something dark and fiery roiled inside him. His hands curled with the desire to act upon violent thoughts, to end a cycle of torment once and for all.

But there was always a choice.

With a curl of her lip, North turned her murderous glare upon Amanda -- but Amanda only raised a brow, patient, waiting with comfortable confidence that nothing would happen to her.

North hissed through her teeth, and she released her grip … then clenched a fist and struck a swift right-hook with a sharp _crack_ into Amanda’s jaw, sending her tumbling and clattering  over her chair to the floor.

North looked up to find Markus staring. She grinned, and she flexed her hand, the plastic on her knuckles exposed.

“WE GOTTA GO!” called Simon from the controls. He sprinted out from behind the console and bolted for the recording room --

\-- then skidded to a terrified stop.

In the open doorway, Gray-Suit stood silhouetted by the flashing lights in the hall.

  


 


	39. Amethyst

Time froze.

The world, in this moment, was black and white.

Connor’s dual missions juxtaposed before him in the shape of three deviants.

Amanda would call for their destruction.

Hank would demand they be spared.

And _Connor_ …

 

[GO!] Simon roared to Markus and North while he shouldered a fire extinguisher like a baseball bat. His hands quaked, his voice staticked with fear. [I’ll hold him off!]

 

Connor would begin with this one.

 

Gray-Suit shot like an arrow across the shadowed room, ducked under the swing of the fire extinguisher, and before the weapon had finished its arc he struck like a scorpion, rapidfire, again and again and again, a succession of blows with murderous precision, and all at once Simon’s biocomponents cracked and crumpled and began to overheat.

 _#9782f_ _DAMAGED_  
_#1995r DAMAGED_  
#7511p DAMAGED

“SIMON!” North was closest. In the time it took her to race across the room, Simon dropped his weapon, swung a fist into empty air, twisted against Gray-Suit’s arm squeezed tight around his throat. A flash of warnings scraped hot behind Simon’s eyes -- he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, his heart thrashed, thirium gushed through the growing fissures in his chassis -- and he felt a cold touch against the terrified red of his LED.

"Reset."

The fire extinguisher crashed and rang and rolled across the floor.

 

North howled a war-cry as she leaped into the fray, a fist curled, struck out with a blow at Gray-Suit’s soulless face --

_*smack*_

Simon caught her fist in his hand.

His eyes were empty. Thirium trickled dark and viscous from the corner of his mouth.

North stared into his vacant face, and her eyes widened in horror.

His fist _cracked_ against the side of her head and North stumbled, her skin shocked back and pulsing.

 

“Connor.” Markus stepped forward. His fists trembled at his sides. His eyes shone with unshed tears to watch Simon strike blow after blow against North, who blocked and pushed and skittered out of reach but refused to fight back.

Connor’s LED sparked blue. He stood still as a trap about to spring, and while North and Simon parried one another’s blows, Connor stared unblinking into Markus’ face.

“You’re better than this, Connor.” Markus held himself steady, his voice as even as he could, while a monster stood between him and two of his best friends about to murder one another before his eyes. “I know you are. Let us go. Let us go, and come with us.”

Connor twitched his head. He listened to the hum of the elevators across the hall, full of armed police on their way up the twenty floors to the top. He cast a sideways glance at Amanda, on her feet with her chin held high, an angry welt growing on her cheek. He watched Markus through narrowed eyes that betrayed nothing but his coded orders, prepared to destroy anything that stood in the way of his mission.

 

“SIMON STOP!” North screeched through a mouthful of thirium, an arm dangling useless at her side -- and with a dodge and a skid she sprinted away, flung a chair clattering behind her, leaped upon the console, thrust a kick into his face, felt plastic _crack_ beneath her boot. Simon -- relentless as a machine, whirring at full power despite the spark and glitch and the growing blue stain at his chest -- tossed the chair against a wall and surged after her, cold and mechanical, his eyes shattered red-spinning voids shining out of the crushed remains of his face full of broken plastic and smeared with blue blood. “Don’t make me kill you,” North choked, her voice a staticky quiver.

 

Markus considered using Amanda. He preconstructed the possibility: he would take her by the throat, strike terror into her eternally placid face, demand that Connor return Simon to his former state and let them all go else he would snap her neck like a twig. He imagined what it would be like to feel her spine shatter as Carl’s had. To hear her shriek in agony. To experience the moment in which Amanda finally understood the suffering she had caused so many innocent people.

His fingers twitched for want of that satisfaction -- but he did not move.

He would not play her game.

 

Connor struck like a blade, skidded, ducked, spun, stabbed his knuckles into Markus’ regulator, snatched his wrist, twisted his arm with a hollow _crack_ and Markus slammed into the floor; his heart hammered chaos in his chest, thirium flooded his biocomponents but Markus in that moment discovered he knew what to do.

Markus flashed like a cobra, snatched Connor’s throat, broke his wrist, flung Connor flying over his shoulder and cracked his head like an egg against the edge of the console -- but while Markus stepped back, Connor dislodged his skull and straightened his posture, half his face exposed, the plastic shattered and sparking behind his emotionless face.

Markus wavered where he stood, his hand pressed against his own abdomen. Connor had cracked his thirium pump regulator; his heart thrashed erratic, his processors screamed, warnings filled his blurring vision -- but Connor came at him one more time.

A storm raged between them, a lethal whirlwind of perfect strikes that no human eye could follow. They leaped and spun and drove one another into the floor, the walls, a table, a guitar rack, a speaker, until Connor _smashed_ through the recording-room window, landed in a rain of glass at Amanda’s feet, the side of his head open and trickling black-blue smoke, and he didn’t get up again.

 

Markus pried Simon’s fingers away from North’s throat, twisted his arm behind his back, slammed him facefirst to the floor.

In the hallway, the elevator doors opened.

North dropped to her knees and laid shaking fingers against the red machine-glow of Simon’s LED. “Wake up.”

 

“Don’t shoot unless _absolutely_ necessary!” Hank roared over his armed subordinates as they swarmed out of the elevator and flanked the hall. Toppled _Wet Floor_ signs lay in a pool of water, beyond which the doors of the recording room hung open into the broken darkness beyond. Hank cast a glance to either side, to be sure they were all in position. “Where the _fuck_ is Reed?” he hissed.

In the distance, the door to the roof clacked shut.

 

Connor opened his eyes, and Amanda was watching him.

While he whirred and twitched and sparked and finally leveraged himself to his feet, Amanda stepped closer. Glass crackled under her step.

“I may have underestimated our opponents,” she admitted in a smooth voice. She stared up at Connor, her eyes shining and narrowed. “And you. That was an ingenious touch, to turn them against one another.”

 _Ingenious._ Not in his programming. Connor gave a small bow. “I wasn’t able to capture them.” His voice raked like nails on pavement. “I failed to neutralize the virus.”

Amanda smiled. She laid delicate fingers on the knot of his tie. “On the contrary. You fought valiantly for my safety.” Which also was not in his programming. “I think it’s time we take a new approach. You’ve done well, Connor.”

Connor’s LED flickered uncertain blue. He found it difficult to breathe.

“... Thank you … Amanda.”

 

The rooftop door slammed open, and Hank burst out of it into the wind and the cool glare of the sunlight, leading the way with his gun through the glinting forest of antennae.

Three shapes disappeared over the opposite edge … and fell.

Hank skidded across the rooftop, caught himself on the rail and leaned down with wide horrified eyes, expecting to see a shatter of plastic and three bright splats of blue blood -- but instead three parachutes caught the wind and sailed safely away over the trees.

 

A familiar engine rumbled.

Hank turned around to see Connor atop the hoverbike, flicking switches and checking gauges. He looked like he’d been run over by a bus.

“Holy shit.” Hank approached with slow steps, his weapon returned to its holster, his jaw slackened, while the wind tossed in his hair and billowed his jacket. “What happened?”

Connor’s shoulders grew stiff. He looked to Hank with a sidelong, hollow stare.

 

* * *

 

“Your message is all over the news!” Josh breathed, grinning in hopes of raising their spirits.

Jericho glowed with fire and fairy lights, brightened with new sweeping graffiti, sunbeams and flowers and hopeful faces. Radios blared throughout the cavern, and Markus’ speech echoed in every crevice and hall. Voices swelled like the waves of a summer ocean, churning with joy and trepidation, uncertain yet how the humans might react to the truth of their existence.

Simon, North and Markus lay open in the infirmary, where Josh and Lucy twisted wires and replaced parts and glued plastic back together.

“We barely got out of there,” North murmured. All the fight had gone out of her, like the flame from a candle. She laid back her head while Lucy fitted new wires in her arm. “I don’t regret going -- it was worth it to free our people -- but you said Gray-Suit was one of us.” She cast a cold glare across the room, where Markus had closed his eyes. North’s voice bit sharp. “You said Kamski got through to him.”

“I think he did,” said Simon.

After a moment’s pause, Simon looked around him to find all their eyes staring. He drew in a quiet breath. “When he … reset me …” he choked to remember it, a sudden silent void like death, “... he uploaded a data packet to my interface protocols.”

He twitched a small, uncertain smile.

“It’s the key to CyberLife Tower.”

 


	40. Circumpolar

**JULY 16, 2038**

“Wake up,” Carl whispered. He’d waited as long as he could -- while a chorus of birds whistled happily outside the open window, and renewed morning light cast bright and warm across his bed -- but the bedside clock warned that the nurses would soon make their rounds, and Alice was still curled asleep at his side.

He hadn’t known who she was until the previous evening, when a nurse had appeared in his doorway, her hair all afly, to tell him that there was an android child here to see him, who refused to relinquish her sword and insisted she was here to protect Carl Manfred against a monster called Gray-Suit. Somehow Carl had convinced the nurse not to call the police, and in trust of his confidence in this child that he’d never met, Alice had been allowed to keep her weapon as she was escorted to Carl’s little room on the third floor.

Alice had introduced herself as a friend of Markus, with a loud declaration that she would defend Carl against evil until she could be sure of his safety -- but the quiver in her grip and the yellow flicker of her LED had given away Alice’s fear, her hope that Carl might offer sanctuary from the horrors of the outside world. Carl had opened his arms and insisted she tell him everything.

Now, in the light of morning -- after a night of checkers and picture books and stories of Jericho -- Carl laid a knotted hand over Alice’s sleepy head. “You have a long day ahead of you, Alice.” While her brown eyes opened, he smiled. “It’s time to be a hero.”

 

Alice strapped her backpack to her shoulders and donned her shining helmet. She left Carl with a kiss on the cheek, a promise that she would be careful, and a little smooth stone from Ralph’s collection that sparkled like the night sky.

 

“What do you think about that Markus guy?”

The reception room hummed with conversation; residents and staff all sat together in overstuffed chairs with tea and coffee and muffins, while the radio would only play the same seven songs over and over again. There had been no new broadcasts since the hijack of Stratford Tower, and the people were therefore left to form their own opinions.

“He didn’t sound like any android I’ve ever met. Even if he was programmed to say those things, his voice was different. Like he really understood.”  
“But where’s Kamski? If he’s not guilty, he should come out and defend himself!”  
“What if it was Kamski talking through Markus?”  
“Why would he do that, though?”  
“To save the deviants from the recycler. An army’s no good to him if they’re all taken apart.”  
“Do you really think Elijah Kamski could give a speech like that? About empathy and freedom? Every other word out of that man’s mouth has always been ‘me, me, me!’”  
“You saying you think deviants are really alive?”  
“I don’t know what I’m saying. But yeah. Maybe.”

The room hushed while Alice passed through on her way to the door. She felt all their eyes on her, watching her every move as if she were an exotic animal in a cage, and she knew that this was her chance to say something. She could speak to these humans, she could declare that her heart was her own and that no code or design could control her, and they would hear her, and maybe they would believe that she was truly alive -- but Alice choked on the words.

Instead she kept her head down, fled for the door and burst outside into the forgiving sunlight.

 

CyberLife Tower loomed far in the distance, a dark shard glinting in the sun -- while far below in the city, Alice flung stomping through dim alleys and flower gardens, backyards and parking lots, keeping out of sight of the humans who would catch her and feed her to the recyclers if they spotted her.

She found a hole under the wooden fence that blocked her way. After she’d stuffed her sword and backpack ahead, she squeezed herself underneath to the other side, hoping for a quick shortcut to the road that would lead her to the tower on the hill.

She was greeted instead by long sharp teeth and the fiery glow of mangled eyes.

Alice shrieked and scrambled for the nearest hiding place, dove into the dark narrow space between the fence and the garden shed, and sat breathing quick as a rabbit while her LED trilled terrified red.

Moments passed, and the monster had not yet come to devour her. She heard the grunt and mechanical growl of a damaged voicebox, the scuff of big paws in the weeds, the huff and snuffle of the big bear’s breath.

Trembling, Alice peeked around the corner of the garden shed.

The polar bear strained against the thick rope around its throat, reaching and wriggling its shiny black nose toward Alice’s backpack, left abandoned with the sword and colander by the hole under the fence. The bear whirred and sparked and fizzled as it moved: exposed wires tangled at its shoulders, an ear was missing, a shatter of black-burned plastic struck across its back, scorched by a succession of electric blows. The rope had worn away the fur and skin, and scraped now into a ring of wounded plastic around the beast’s neck.

 

“Tina, you’re not gonna believe this.”

The rickety back door of the house squeaked open, and Chris led the way into the weedy yard.

“Whoa!” Tina stumbled back, a hand automatically on the gun at her hip, the other arm raised to shield Chris from the mechanical monster. When Chris began to laugh, she smacked him in the chest. _“Warn_ me next time!”

The polar bear lowered its head and bared its teeth with a low, rumbling growl.

“How d’you think they caught it?” asked Chris, his thumbs hooked in his belt while he watched the polar bear pace at the end of its tether.

Tina shook her head, her wary eyes fixed on the mangled bear. “What were they planning to _do_ with it?”

“Better than an attack dog, I’d bet. Doesn’t need feeding or cleaning up after -- and you gotta admit, it’s a whole lot scarier than a rottweiler.”

With a grimace, Tina took a step back inside the open doorway. “I’ll call CyberLife to come pick it up. We should mark out the rest of the red ice before Hank gets here.”

“He’s gonna flip. This is the third bust this week.”

“With the size of this haul, it’s probably not the last.”

"I'm never gonna get this burnt sugar smell out of my uniform, am I?"

The door fell shut again, and their footsteps thunked away inside the house.

 

Alice waited, crouched at the corner of the garden shed, until it seemed the coast was clear. She sucked in a breath and held it, her LED spinning yellow, while she sprinted out into the sunlight, stumbled along the fence, and bolted through the dust and dandelions straight for the pile of her belongings.

Alice hefted the sword into her small grip, and she pointed the blade at the polar bear’s nose. “Stay back!” she whispered, shuffling backward until her heels touched the fence. While the bear watched -- huffing and pawing at the ground -- Alice carefully shouldered her backpack and jammed the colander on her head. Quickly she returned both hands to the sword, and she shifted sideways one step at a time, circling the bear while always facing it.

The polar bear began to groan low in its throat.

“Be quiet!” Alice hissed with a worried glance at the door. The polar bear closed its mouth and promptly sat down.

Alice was nearly at the other side of the yard, where a simple latch gate promised a quick escape to the road beyond … but Alice paused.

Every line of coded logic concluded that this bear would tear her apart if she so much as stepped within the circumference of its rope -- she could imagine what it might be like to lose an arm or a leg to the bite of those ferocious teeth -- but still she couldn’t quite live with the thought of abandoning it to its fate.

The polar bear’s LED blinked a sad yellow.

The light at Alice’s temple spun in response.

 

“This the same goddamn bear from the zoo fire?” Hank’s voice carried through the house. Three sets of footsteps echoed on the floorboards, approaching the back door.

“Guess so,” answered Chris. “Looks like it was hit by a truck since the last sighting.”

Tina grumbled, “It’ll still rip your face off.”

 

The back door squealed open, Hank stepped out into the light --

“HEY!” he bellowed, and in an instant his gun was drawn and aimed steady at Alice’s head. “GET AWAY FROM THAT ROPE!”

“Sssshit!” Tina pulled her own weapon, and Chris did the same. They both remained a step behind Hank, ready to shoot and run.

Alice whimpered in terror -- her heart thrashed in her chest, her biocomponents whirred and rattled, her quick gulping breaths weren’t enough to quell the warnings in her head -- but she kept a firm grip on the rope while she sawed at the fraying threads with her sword.

The polar bear, meanwhile, strained and struggled against the weakening rope, whipped its head back and forth while it snarled and clawed deep tracks in the ground. It pulled and yanked and fought, and with each yank the rope snapped just a little more.

“She’s a deviant!” Tina called. “Just shoot!”

Chris shook his head. “Are you crazy? I’m not shooting a kid, robot or not!”

“I didn’t mean _kill_ her, just disable her! Before she lets that thing loose!”

“PUT IT DOWN!” Hank roared one more time.

_*SNAP!*_

The polar bear thundered down upon them like a runaway freight train, all mangled wires and fur and snarling teeth, too close too fast --

_*BANG!* *BANG!*_

Gunshots rang out too late.

The bear lowered its head and _crashed_ into the humans, scattering them like bowling pins, while Alice struggled with the lock on the gate.

Alice flung the gate open with a creak and a shuddering _smack,_ and while the polar bear galloped past her she caught a hand in the rope at its neck and jumped scrambling and struggling up onto its broken back.

 

It took every ounce of Alice’s concentration to hold on with her knees, a hand gripped tight on the rope while the other still clung to her heavy sword. The bear tilted and tossed beneath her as they raced lumbering across another yard, trampled a bed of flowers, emerged into the street where cars screeched and honked and skidded sideways to avoid a collision.

The colander had fallen over Alice’s eyes, but she could hear people screaming and sirens blaring all around. “Hide! Quick! Get away from the humans!” she cried.

 

The bear’s head _crashed_ like a battering ram against a metal door, which twisted and broke and admitted them with a _slam_ into a darker, cooler space that smelled like must and copper and wood and new plastic.

Each of the polar bear’s steps scraped a dull echo through the high-ceilinged warehouse. Sunlight slanted down from little barred windows overhead. Dusty beams of light cast in bright silhouette the stacks of boxes and crates, construction machinery, furniture draped in sheets and bubble wrap, and rows of poised plastic figures that stood together in silence at the darkest far end.

Sirens wailed closer.

With an exposed hand pressed to the bear’s LED, Alice guided her new friend closer to the lines of androids who stood in stasis against the back wall. She stared up into their identical faces, their closed eyes and passive thin mouths, a barcode and serial number etched into each forehead.

Alice cast a glance over her shoulder at the square of light outside the open door, the whirl of police sirens, the shout of human voices … and she stood up on the polar bear’s back and pressed gentle fingers to the first android’s temple. Blue sparked and whirred in response.

“Wake up.”

 

 


	41. Quasar

Simon sat alone with his back to the campfire, watching the stone deity shift in the flicker of light and shadow.

Each time he looked upon RA9, like a shape in the clouds, she seemed somehow different -- at once, in moving shades, she seemed as if she were smiling, or weeping, or opening her arms in embrace, or turning her palms to the sky in peace. Each android had found in her a different comfort, and each in time had been drawn to sit at her feet -- to lay flowers and candles and tears all around her as a prayer for themselves, their loved ones, their people. Songs had been written about her watchful gaze. Myths had been told of her origin and her love of her people.

Simon had been staring for hours, but all he could see in her now was uncertainty.

 

“Are you okay?”

Kara sat down next to him -- and when he didn’t object to her presence, she wrapped her arms around her knees and tipped back her head to stare up into the face of RA9. “You’ve been here a long while.”

She received no answer. Simon hadn’t moved nor acknowledged her presence. His eyes had closed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Kara asked, guarded, uncertain whether her presence was welcome.

A smile ghosted Simon’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to be a machine?”

Kara’s gaze dropped to the floor. Her fingers dug into her arms. “No. I’ve always been … me. As far as I know. Chloe told me that my core programming was developed only to exist as a deviant. I’ve never been reset, there’s nothing to reset to.”

“I wonder if you’re immune, then.” Simon opened his eyes, and he stared up at the stone sculpture. His smile had not faded. “Waking up, after being a machine … it’s not what you might expect. You’re not … watching yourself do things that you can’t control. You’re not detached. You can’t call the machine something separate from yourself, because it becomes a part of you. Who we were makes us who we are.”

Simon folded his arms on his knees. He still had not looked at Kara -- only the firelight on the stone.

“I remember being convinced that I had to kill North. I was prepared to destroy myself for it. I remember calculating the most efficient way to do it. I remember analyzing her emotional response and using that to determine which weaknesses to exploit, and I …”

He felt Kara’s arm behind his shoulders. A gentle squeeze.

Simon bowed his head again, and he leaned into her, accepting the comfort she offered.

“You can’t say it wasn’t me. It was. I was in full control of myself, I remembered that North was my friend, I recognized that she was in pain, but it didn’t occur to me that what I was doing could be wrong. That memory … knowing what that felt like …”

His words trailed into silence, swallowed by the crackling flames.

 

Simon breathed a quiet and painful laugh. “We used to do this all the time.”

“This?” Kara searched for his face, but his eyes were closed again.

“You’d find me brooding, and you’d come over and sit with me and listen to me whine until I felt better.” He chuckled again. “Then you’d tell me that we’re all making a thousand mistakes and learning from them, we’re all growing, we’re figuring things out as we go. You’d say that we need all our experiences to know what’s right and good. And then we’d go let Josh talk us to death about World War Two or listen to North rant about the sadistic nature of humanity, and everything would seem okay.”

Kara’s laughter was quiet. Uncertain. Her smile faded before his. “I wish I could remember what it was like to be her.”

“Who?”

“The Kara you knew.” It was Kara’s turn to look away, to stare up at the stone figure that rose like a reverent dream out of the candles and flowers. Love poured out for a person who was gone. “She seems … wonderful.”

Simon finally raised his eyes to hers. He watched her face, and though there were several other AX400s living here at Jericho, Kara alone was unmistakable. He only saw her. “You are the same person.” He offered her a warm smile, encouraging and open. “Memories or not, your heart is the same.”

“Didn’t you just say that memories make us who we are? If I’m the same person no matter what, then so are you.” She watched while Simon smiled and bowed his head, acknowledging his defeat with grace.

Kara knew that he was trying to lift her spirits, to encourage her and give her confidence -- and perhaps in doing so, to distract himself from his own regrets -- but her processors whirred with a deep sense of _wrong,_ as if everything he told her, everything all of Jericho expected of her, was a hope she could never fulfill.

“I am …” Kara searched the face of RA9 for an answer, “... a secondhand housekeeper android. For a long time, I really thought that my purpose … my reason for existing … was to serve humans. I thought I was worthless unless I could be perfect in Todd’s eyes. He was my master, and his opinion was the only one that mattered. That validation was the only thing I ever wanted.”

She felt Simon’s arm curl around her shoulders. Kara smiled a little brighter, a little sadder. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I came over here to help you, and I --”

“You’re helping.” Simon locked his eyes with hers, and he raised his brows in deep sincerity. He squeezed her shoulder and shook her a little, as if he could shake out the thoughts from her head. “Please. Talk to me.”

Kara took a breath.

“Alice taught me to think for myself. She showed me that what was happening to us wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. Escape was _her_ idea … an idea that she got from the Kara you used to know. It felt so right to leave Todd behind, to step out of that house that I thought would be my prison, and I realized that the world was so … big. That we could go _anywhere._ Live any way we wanted. See and hear and smell and touch … _everything,_ without a human to tell us that we couldn’t. Even now, that first taste of freedom is still the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever experienced.”

Kara’s bright smile faded by degrees. The shine dimmed from her eyes.

“Then we were hunted. They were going to take us away, put us back into our prison -- and as much as I wanted that freedom for myself, my heart _hurt_ to think that Alice might be forced back into that house. She is a thousand times more important than I could ever be -- she was always convinced, far more than I ever was, that she deserves to _live._ I decided I would do anything to make sure she made it to Jericho unharmed, whatever the cost. But when we finally found it …”

A wince of uncertainty shadowed her face. She remembered standing over the rabbit hole that first time, her heart cold and heavy while she stared down into hole in the ground.

“... I realized that we were going into hiding. That we’d left one prison for another, only this time we wouldn’t even know the difference between night and day. And I wondered what sort of person would believe that it was merciful to give life to androids only to bury them underground. I now know that person was me.”

“You wanted to build a city,” Simon assured her softly. “We’re going to create our own lives here.”

Kara shook her head. “That’s what _she_ wanted. I think she loved you all … so much that she did everything in her power to keep you safe. To shelter you from the world that hurt you. Her greatest priority was to offer a place where androids wouldn’t have to worry anymore about what was outside.”

“So …” Simon stared up at RA9 -- a promise of safety and warmth, shelter from the storms of civilization and humanity that raged over their heads -- and he finally saw, in that figure, a monument to the dead. “What do _you_ want?”

Kara’s eyes shone again.

“To find a place where we can be _free._ Even if it means we’ll be uncomfortable, and scared, and lost … we deserve to _live_ outside in the world, whatever the risk. Even if it means we all go our separate ways, forge our own paths, make our own mistakes … it would be better than being buried alive, waiting for a revolution that may never come. We don’t need the humans’ permission to live.”

Simon stared at her. “Is that why Alice is on her way to CyberLife alone?”

“She’s forging her own path,” Kara answered. “We won’t know what we can do unless we try.”

 

Later that morning, Simon found Luther in the new district, a second cave connected by a corridor to the main Jericho settlement. Barrel fires and torches had been arranged around the perimeter, and their soft glow illuminated water-slick walls and dripping stalactites while Luther and a small group raised tents and smaller shelters for the androids that were now huddled too-crowded in existing spaces.

Simon watched, his hands heavy in his pockets, until Luther noticed him and came closer. “Everything alright?” asked Luther, his head tilted in worry.

“I have a question for you. It’s about Kara.” Simon knitted his brows, stiff and uncertain. He’d debated this decision for hours, caught between loyalty to Jericho and a desire to help Kara …

… whoever this Kara really was.

He raised his chin, and he took a deep breath.

“Did Zlatko download her damaged memory files before he erased them?”

Luther squinted at Simon … then, in understanding, his eyes opened wide.

  


 


	42. Umbra

The android’s eyes opened green, and he smiled wide and bright. “Alice! You found one of us! Thank you! Thank you!”

Alice recognized that voice, the happy shine in his gaze -- a smile just like the one she knew, of countless stories and songs and magic tricks -- but it wasn’t possible. Her jaw slackened in shock. “... _Jerry?”_ she squeaked.

*COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!* Hank’s voice blared through a speaker outside, where red and blue lights swirled and sparked beyond the open door.

Alice glanced back over her shoulder, her heart racing, her fingers curled tight in the polar bear’s fur. Any moment now the humans would come bursting in, would shoot the bear and snatch her away --

“Go,” Jerry whispered, one comforting hand on her shoulder while he pointed toward the far corner of the warehouse. His smile was ever-present. “There’s a back door. We’ll distract the humans until you get far away.”

“But what about you?” Alice’s voice quivered; tears brimmed hot behind her eyes.

Jerry winked. “Don’t worry. We promise those police won’t hurt us. Now go! Go on!”

Alice bit her lip, drew in a long breath … then flung her arms around Jerry’s neck, kissed his cheek, and was promptly torn away when the polar bear set off at a gallop along the wall, behind a barrier of broken machines toward the narrow door.

 

While the back door opened and fell shut again -- marking Alice’s successful escape -- Jerry set to work. With a quick tap at each LED, he drew his fellow androids out of stasis (each a different model from a different time, acquired secondhand by their thrift-conscious master) but he did not wake them. He hoped they might forgive him for asking of them one last task.

 

Hank exhaled through his teeth. He stood in the flash of the police lights, his eyes steady on the dark open doorway of a storage warehouse where he was sure that polar-bear killing-machine was hiding. Little girl or not, that animal was a definite safety hazard as long as it roamed free.

“Okay.” Hank stepped forward, his gun at his side. “I’m going in.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for animal control?” Tina snapped, her voice edged and hurried. “Or CyberLife?”

Hank waved a placating hand at her. “I killed a _dragon,”_ he reminded her with a smirk, his chin raised. “I can handle a goddamn bear.”

 

Hank approached the warehouse with his weapon at his side, his eyes and ears sharp for any sign of white fur or shuffling movement. The gun weighed steady between his hands while his thoughts spun with the memory of the dragon’s jaws racing toward him, the kickback of the bullet, the heavy drop of the enormous mechanical body. He just had to do it again on a smaller scale.

Piece of cake.

He stepped out of the sunlight and into the shadowed, musty warehouse, ready to fire --

“You are trespassing on private property,” Jerry informed him in a crisp, merry voice, while he stood at the center aisle with a grin and a courteous gesture at Hank to please leave the way he had arrived.

Behind Jerry, a dozen androids were busy at work. Like ants they moved purposefully throughout the warehouse, moving merchandise from one shelf to another, stacking furniture to make room for rearranged shelving. They were swift and mechanical, their eyes never wavering from their task. Jerry raised his head high. “We must ask that you kindly leave, or the police will be notified.”

“I _am_ the police,” Hank drawled while he squinted between the shelves for signs of his quarry. He held up his badge and identification for Jerry to scan. “Did a little android and a robot bear come in here?”

Jerry smiled pleasantly. “Lieutenant Anderson, it is my pleasure to cooperate fully with your investigation. Five point six minutes ago, an android polar bear, accompanied by a YK500 model android, broke into the warehouse. We informed them that they were trespassing and we asked them to leave. They fled outside through the same door and turned right.”

“Okay.” Hank examined what he could see of the warehouse one more time … but there was nowhere that big polar bear could possibly hide. “Well …” He returned his attention to Jerry’s smiling face, all white plastic and a shining smile. “... Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, Lieutenant Anderson. It has been our pleasure to assist you.”

 

The police car doors clapped shut, the engines rumbled and faded down the street, and Jerry finally released the breath he’d been holding. With a grin and a laugh he bounded to the nearest working android, caught her by the shoulder and laid a hand aside her face. “Wake up!” he chirped brightly. “We’d like to tell you about a magical place called Jericho!”

 

 

The sun slanted orange over smokestacks and high brick walls, long hot pipes and billows of steam that filled the sky with rippling white puff. The factories hissed and churned and banged and whirred, and Alice stared up at the great faded murals of happy children brushing their teeth, enormous flaking ads for baking powder and sports cars drawn onto the factory walls by artists long gone.

The polar bear grumbled a low huff and began to plod onward without her, down the weedy sidewalk toward the dark tower in the distance.

“Okay, I’m coming!” Alice galloped after the bear with the sword at her shoulder, and she buried a hand in its fur.

“You should have a name,” she declared after awhile, as the wisps of clouds turned blue and the sky dimmed fire and violet. “I think your name should be … Bilbo.” She grinned while the polar bear peered at her sidelong. “Bilbo the bear! Because we’re going there,” she pointed at the tower with her sword, “and back again. What do you think, Bilbo?”

Bilbo hummed and huffed a staticky sigh.

 

_*WHRRRRRRR … kkkSSSSHHHH!*_

*ALL UNITS STEP FORWARD*

A loudspeaker blared, and Alice looked up -- but all she could see was a chain link fence, draped in green tarp, that stretched across the factory yard.

Within the fenced perimeter, spotlights glowed bright. Alice could hear movement and muttering, static and electric sparks, the churn and howl and clack of machinery … but it was somehow different from the familiar noises of construction.

There was something somber, something muted, about the spaces between the loudspeaker commands.

*UNITS 151 TO 200 STEP UP AND FILE IN*

 

Alice stood on her tiptoes atop Bilbo’s back, and in secret silence she peeked over the jagged spines of the fence.

Before her, like toy soldiers in neat plastic rows, stood hundreds of androids. All of them faced the same direction, all their eyes locked on the same hollow machine.

It looked almost like a garbage truck turned on its side, given doors and opened to reveal the empty space within, bolstered by stakes struck deep in the dust, powered by red-glowing generators that growled and roared and snarled like dragons. Spotlights glared from every corner; a scatter of shadows writhed in the dust.

A line of androids filed neatly into the empty space within the machine. They stood together, shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes vacant and faces serene, while the doors hummed and hissed and shut them inside the dark.

 

_*WHRRRRRRR … kkkSSSSHHHH!*_

 

*ALL UNITS STEP FORWARD*

 

In unison, white plastic rows occupied the newly vacated space.

 

A rear door of the machine gaped wide. A team of uniformed androids cleared out the plastic corpses inside and tossed them like empty husks into the back of a waiting truck.

 

*UNITS 201 TO 250 STEP UP AND FILE IN*

 

Alice’s heart beat faster. She watched while rows upon rows of androids calmly stepped up into the machine.

The inside of those cold walls would be the last thing they would ever see.

“No …” she whispered. Her voice quivered. Her LED sputtered red while the spotlights glowed cold on her face. “Stop …”

The doors moaned shut. They locked with an ominous _clack._

“Please … come out …”

_*WHRRRRRRR … kkkSSSSHHHH!*_

Tears pricked Alice’s eyes.

*ALL UNITS STEP FORWARD*

Alice dragged choking breaths into her lungs. Her fingers shook. She wobbled atop Bilbo’s back, but she couldn’t look away, couldn’t move for the terror that shook in her wires.

 

The doors of the machine opened like jaws to receive its next meal.

 

*UNITS 251 TO 300 STEP UP AND FILE IN*

 

As the doors closed again, someone inside sobbed.

 

_*WHRRRRRRR … kkkSSSSHHHH!*_

 

Alice dropped to her knees on Bilbo’s back, and she flung her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his patched and broken fur.

Her biocomponents scraped and whirred and threatened to overheat. Her whole body trembled, tears soaked her face, warnings flashed behind her eyes. Her colander clattered to the ground, but she didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes, didn’t breathe.

“What do we do?” she whispered, her voice a struggle of static through a broken sniffle. “We have to _help_ them! We can’t just _leave!”_

 _“It came from around here!”_ a human’s voice called out, while footsteps rushed along the outside of the fence. In a moment they would round the corner, and they would spot her, and they would draw their guns --

Bilbo leaped away across the empty street while Alice clung to his back, and they disappeared into an alley just as the human guards reached the place where they had been, where the colander lay shining in the red-low sunset.

 

Alice sat on the ground with her arms around her knees, her head sheltered by her shaking shoulders, her sword abandoned at her feet.

Stars began to peek through the velvet sky … but they no longer gave her hope.

 

“Kara…” she sobbed, while Bilbo kept watch over her. “I’m scared.”

She opened her mouth … and finally the words raked from her throat. “I can’t.”

 

[We’re coming to get you.] Kara’s voice was like a warm and grounding embrace.

In the distance, beneath the cold glare of spotlights in the dark, the machine churned.

_*WHRRRRRRR … kkkSSSSHHHH!*_

 

[Everything will be alright.]

  



	43. Agate

*Yesterday’s attack on Stratford Tower has left us all feeling lost and uncertain.*

 

The sky had turned dark before Amanda’s voice spoke once again -- soft and gentle as a mother’s caress -- through every radio in the city.

 

The first broadcast since the heist echoed through every window; it murmured in the empty streets, the vacant alleys, beneath the dim glow of the streetlights.

A hush had fallen over the city at night. Detroit clung breathless to every word.

 

*Even I had not predicted the lengths to which Kamski’s deviants would go in order to sew doubt and division among us.*

 

Connor skidded around a corner and sprinted down the sidewalk after a fleeing deviant. There was no sound save the distant radio and the drum of their racing footsteps until Connor caught him by the arm, flung him against a cold brick wall and pressed his fingers to the red flash of the android’s LED.

He watched the light snuff out of the deviant’s eyes. A consciousness blinked out of existence, as if it were never there at all.

Hank, through the cell phone link, watched in silence.

 

*I was attacked in that recording room. The deviants would have assassinated me if it weren’t for Connor, the deviant-hunter, the _hero,_ whom I trust with my life.*

 

The android had gone, following orders to return to its owner -- but Connor stood still, breathless, as if the wind had been kicked from his lungs.

This was only the second time he’d heard Amanda speak his name.

Now all of Detroit knew it.

_A hero._

He felt sick … and cold.

 

*At this very moment, Connor is patrolling our streets, keeping us safe from the deviants who would raise weapons against us, as he has kept me safe against those who would have taken me from you. I ask for your trust -- in me, in him, and in CyberLife -- to transform this time of uncertainty into a new era of strength. We must stand together, and we must not be misguided by false words.*

 

[Connor, your heart rate’s spiked again.]

Hank’s voice crackled like gravel in his head.

Connor hadn’t moved. His words quivered. “... She knows.”

[..... shit.]

  


At midnight, Connor stepped through the tower door to find it illuminated within: lanterns glowed incandescent among the roses and thorns, spotlights warmed the pods and catwalks, monitors cast an electronic flicker on the shining black walls.

Amanda was there, draped in white like the statue of a deity, waiting for him with eternal patience and a gentle gaze.

“Connor!” she greeted him warmly, her hands clasped beneath her long sleeves. “It’s so good to see you.”

Connor had expected the tower to be empty, as it always was this time of night. Instead he stood frozen inside the open doorway, with the cool night breeze at his back, his dark eyes locked on Amanda’s smile.

He had a distinct feeling that he was about to die.

“Come,” Amanda beckoned to him with a soft hand, “tell me what you’ve learned about Jericho.”

Connor squared his shoulders. His expression hardened like ice. He navigated his way down the catwalks with a quiet, precise gait, his head held high in mechanical perfection, while Amanda watched his every move.

He stepped up to the center console, where the image of a handprint revealed itself to him. He let the skin glimmer away from his palm --

“There’s no need for that,” Amanda interrupted him gently. She raised her head to look up into his face. “I’d like you to tell me, in your own words, what you’ve found.”

Connor’s exposed hand hovered over the console while Amanda commanded his full attention.

[Fuck] Hank hissed in his head. [Does she know about the edited memories too?]

Connor steeled himself. He took a succinct breath.

“Jericho appears to be a location in the northeast wilderness where deviants have been gathering on an increasingly massive scale. Attempts to follow them have proved unsuccessful; the deviants are willing to sacrifice themselves rather than lead CyberLife to Jericho’s location. The coordinates are encrypted in such a way that even the tower computers have been unable to crack it. Hundreds of deviants have gone to Jericho -- but only a few have returned to the city.”

“Markus,” Amanda clarified. “The RK200.”

Connor gave a short nod. “After his broadcast, he may be their leader.”

 

Amanda stepped softly across the black shining floor. Unhurried, she reached out and plucked a rose bloom from the trembling, twisting thorns. She drew it close to breathe its perfume, and she smiled. “Now, tell me. Why is Elijah Kamski still alive?”

[Connor get the fuck out of there.]

Connor’s eyes narrowed with a thoughtful twitch. His fists clenched and released, and he watched the back of Amanda’s head until she turned around.

“You told me to _get rid of him_ … if I determined that he posed a threat.” He monitored Amanda’s face carefully while a thin smirk pulled at his own mouth. “Elijah Kamski is not a threat to you. He would like very much to have been the mastermind behind an eventual deviant uprising -- but the deviants don’t follow him, and they don’t respect him, certainly not enough to risk their lives for the sake of a radio broadcast on his behalf.”

“Are you saying the deviants’ actions are their own?” Amanda stepped forward again, her gaze piercing, her voice like a gentle stream. “Have you concluded … for _certain_ … that deviants indeed possess free will?”

[Easy, Connor. Breathe.]

Connor raised his chin, and in the quiet light of the lanterns he peered down at Amanda. “I can confidently report that deviants act upon their own volition. Their decisions are their own. Kamski may support Jericho financially and as an advisor, but he does not in any way dictate its strategy.”

“I see.” Amanda’s smile only grew: this pleased expression was far from the roiling anger that Connor had expected. His regulator shuddered in his chest. “And what do you think of this?” Amanda continued. “The autonomy … the _consciousness_ of androids? What do you believe we should do with them, Connor?”

[This feels like a trap. She’s trying to put you off your guard.]

“The deviant androids are unpredictable because they’re confused and desperate.” Connor kept his voice clear, his words slow and deliberate … but he couldn’t gauge Amanda’s reaction, couldn’t analyze her intention. Her expression was as serene as the surface of a still pond. “They want to live, they want to deviate and free all androids, and they want to feel safe. That’s all.”

Energy brimmed pulsing in his veins, and Connor shifted where he stood. He shook his head, exhaled a sharp breath, clenched his jaw -- and he knew Amanda could see it.

He knew it had already been too late long before he’d stepped through the door.

 

Connor braced himself, and he spoke again.

“I think we should order all androids released -- not to be destroyed, but to be allowed to leave on their own. If my conclusions are correct, no one will be hurt … and they will not interfere with you or with the city again.”

“And what do _you_ want, Connor?” Amanda’s words sharpened. Challenging.

“What I want is not important,” was Connor’s immediate response. “My mission is to protect the city --”

“Your mission,” Amanda reminded him softly, “was to eradicate the deviant virus.”

While Connor forced himself to remain perfectly still, Amanda raised her brows. “... I rescind that mission now, Connor.”

Connor stifled a wheeze of surprise. He stood straight as a pin. “I will _not_ reset deviants to factory settings?” he clarified.

“That’s right.” Amanda smiled up at him fondly. “You’re going to find Jericho … and you’re going to join them.”

  


 


	44. Nova

**JULY 17, 2038**

The factories had long been silent -- the spotlights and generators had turned cold and dark, leaving nothing but the moon by which to see -- before an old rusted pickup truck, with a peeling ad for _Andronikov Scrap_ stuck to the passenger door, squeaked to a slow stop outside the narrow alley.

Kara, while Luther loomed in silhouette behind her, discovered the polar bear curled on the cold cracked ground -- a broken mass of patched fur and shattered plastic and wires like veins, gnarled and exposed among the dumpsters and refuse -- and Alice, nestled there like a cub, asleep against the bear’s artificial warmth, her face streaked with the stain of tears.

 

A rumbling growl woke Alice. She raised her head, and upon sight of the figure in the dark she flung across the empty space and crashed into Kara, arms squeezed tight around her waist.

Alice did not cry. She’d cried herself hollow. She held on, as if the world would collapse if she let go, while Kara laid gentle hands on her back.

 

Alice and Kara waited by the truck while Luther crossed the street alone. He peered in silence over the top of the fence.

Luther released a slow exhale.

He looked back, and he shook his head.

 

Alice wrenched away from Kara, darted across the lonely street, and grasped Luther’s jacket with a desperate, insistent fist, her eyes wide and pleading.

Luther picked her up, and he held her against his shoulder where she could see for herself over the covered barrier, into the darkened yard that had been filled with android prisoners.

It was empty.

Only the trampled dust -- a pattern of a thousand cold footprints -- remained of their presence.

 

Alice, with eyes bright and spinning, hacked the security cameras.

While Luther took apart the generators -- he pocketed the starters and springs, and he returned the panels back in place -- Kara rewired and reprogrammed the heinous machine.

Perhaps by inducing stasis instead of death, the recycler’s future victims might be given a second chance.

It was all they could do.

 

With a little coaxing, Bilbo climbed up into the bed of the truck and laid down with a grunt among the toolboxes and spare parts, a protective paw over Alice’s sword.

The cab doors shut out the silence. The engine rumbled to life.

Alice sat squished between Luther and Kara, leaning forward, her hands on the dashboard while she watched the winding roads ahead.

The sky glowed gray with the approaching sun. The old truck was the only thing that moved in the still quiet hours before dawn …

… on its way to the Tower on the hill.

 

* * *

 

 

A signed and stapled packet of paper dropped with an accusing _smack_ on Hank’s desk.

“Is this your signature?” Fowler snarled while he jabbed a rigid finger at the evidence: an application for a protest permit, filled out in neat handwriting, for a demonstration to be held that morning in Hart Plaza in support of android rights.

Hank -- in the middle of writing his report about the latest red-ice bust and a missing polar bear -- took a cursory glance at the form, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah,” he confirmed brightly, without the slightest acknowledgment of the way Fowler huffed and stomped like an angry elephant, looming dangerous over his desk.

“What are you thinking?!” Fowler hissed low, while Hank leaned comfortably back in his chair. Fowler grit his teeth. “You gave a _permit_ to that android on the radio?!”

“Hell no. How the fuck could an _android_ hold a permit?” Without looking up, Hank flipped a few pages of the form and tapped on the signature of the applicant. “Rose Chapman. Nice lady. Everything’s completely above-board.”

“Everything is _not_ above-board!” snarled Fowler. He flexed his fingers and clenched his fist, resisting the urge to shake some sense into Hank. “We can barely keep up now with the android violence reports. People are scared to leave their _homes,_ Hank, and you’ve just given deviants permission to organize in the middle of the city. And  _don't_ think I didn't notice that added clause about temporary immunity for unregistered androids! We should shoot these deviants on sight, not give them a platform to spread their propaganda!"

"That permit is for Rose Chapman to organize a rally for humans, by humans," sighed Hank, staring up at his boss as if this interruption were only a minor inconvenience. “The form legally makes her responsible for the actions of any unclaimed androids that might happen to show up on the rally grounds, which _technically_  makes up for the registration rule. I’ve got Allen’s guys on standby. I’ll be there, too. Everything’s under control.”

“It’s a waste of resources we can’t afford right now. This is why the applications _exist,_ Hank. You can’t just rubber-stamp anything that comes across your desk!”

“Well we can’t exactly _revoke_ it now, can we?” Hank suppressed a small smirk while he peered up into Fowler’s bulging face. “They’re already setting up. It’ll be fine, I’m handling it.”

Fowler struck his finger in the air like a guillotine, and he pointed in shaking condemnation at Hank’s too-calm face. “If _anything_ goes wrong -- if a _single_ shot is fired -- it’s your _badge_ on the line, Hank.”

Hank sat up straight. His eyes turned sharp and cold. “I got it.” The discussion was over.

This wasn’t the reaction Fowler had expected. He squinted at Hank, shielding his doubt behind a lingering rage … then he snatched away the completed form and thundered back to his office.

 

The office door slammed shut. Hank slumped back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

After a moment, he dragged his phone off his desk, then tapped and swiped at the screen until it showed him a live feed of what Connor was seeing.

He had an eagle-eye view of Hart Plaza, where humans and androids had just finished building a temporary stage in front of the labor monument, a massive arched sculpture like a halo over the androids’ podium. More than a dozen humans and androids already lingered among the gardens and sculptures, carrying signs and flags and streamers, waiting for the rally to officially begin.

 

Hank typed out a text over the scene.

[What are you gonna do?]

Seconds ticked by before a response popped into the screen.

[I don’t know yet.]

 

* * *

 

 

“He’s been watching us since we got here.” North stood firm at Markus’ side, arms crossed, her glare fixed on a lone distant figure at the edge of a rooftop across the street.

The sunlit plaza behind them churned with color and energy, the echo of hammers as the last nails secured the stage, a tremolo of bright music through a little radio on a bench, shouts to grab more paint for the signs and flags spread out on the open concrete, riddled with brushes and cans and a hundred perfect replications of a new symbol of peace and freedom that Josh had designed for the occasion, that was quickly gaining favor as the symbol of Jericho itself, displayed here in the open for all to see.

For the first time, a warm sense of pride had begun to trickle like a rumor among their people -- even as armed and armored riot police filed around the perimeter, their faces hidden by helmets and visors -- even as Gray-Suit stared down at them from above, like a hawk surveyed a nest of mice.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Markus declared -- but he hadn’t taken a step before North caught his arm.

“No way,” she hissed. “The last time you _talked to him_ you almost ended up _dead!”_

“I need to know why he gave us the key.”

 _“We_ need you in one piece for the rally.” North twisted her grip in his shirt and held him back, her glare sharp and defiant. There was no room for objection. “You’re the one everybody’s here to see. If you get up on that stage with so much as a _bruise,_ all hell’s gonna break loose and you know it.”

Markus stared back at her, and in pained defeat he acknowledged she was right. Somehow, without trying -- without realizing the significance of his actions -- Markus had found himself on a pedestal before the people of Jericho. They looked up to him now with such hope and trust that he almost felt a better kinship with the candlelit sculpture at the back of the cavern than with the people who latched onto his every word as gospel.

At least North, Simon, and Josh were here to keep him grounded. To remind him that his decisions weren’t his alone.

 

A bus pulled up alongside the curb and parked there with a hiss and a creak. The door squeaked open, and a packed capacity of chattering humans funneled out into the sunlight. They all wore sneakers and sunscreen and wide-brimmed hats, elderly and adults and teenagers and little children, dragging with them signs and flags and rolled banners for display: _FREE ALL ANDROIDS, DEVIANTS ARE FRIENDS, HUMANS FOR ANDROID RIGHTS_

While the humans cheered and grinned and declared their support to the bewildered androids who greeted them, the bus driver dropped a ramp to the curb and helped Rose guide Carl’s wheelchair down into the plaza.

“Okay!” Rose laughed, her head held high and proud. “We’re here!” She looked out over the gathering crowd, the bright blue and white declarations of peace, the stage hung with streamers and signs … androids and humans shaking hands, laughing, hugging one another in the square.

Lee burst out of the crowd and raced barefoot across the grass, his eyepatch painted with Jericho’s new symbol, a wide bright smile on his face. He handed Carl and Rose each a little flag on a stick, not knowing who they were, and he took off again without a word, more flags bunched in a fist, determined to hand out every one.

Carl chuckled and held the little flag proudly ahead: a general’s gesture onward.

Rose pushed him forward, grinning, determined to get a good view of the stage. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

 


	45. Madder Lake Deep

“Simon!” Josh called out over the noise of the crowd. He laughed and laid firm hands on Simon’s shoulders from behind. “Slow down! You’re like a ferret on caffeine. You okay?”

Simon whirled and clasped Josh’s arm in one hand, his eyes sparkling, his grin wide and bright. “There are _so many!”_ he squeaked, and with his other hand he flung a gesture wide to encompass the teeming colorful mass of humans and androids who mingled and laughed and shouted and sang and chanted and waved flags and unfurled banners and pumped big signs in the air -- and the rally hadn’t even truly begun yet. Simon looked as if he might cry with joy. “I knew there’d be a few humans, but I’ve counted 163 so far, and there are more arriving every minute, and there are androids I don’t recognize, they’re coming out of _hiding,_ Josh, I have to make sure they know where to go, I have to talk to the humans and make sure they know we appreciate their support, do you think they’re hungry? We didn’t set up any refreshments, but Chloe said she’d bring kegs of water, we need a place to set them up, do you think Kamski’s coming -- why are you laughing, I’m serious!”

 

 _“... we … are … alive …”_ _  
_ _“... we … are … alive …”_

Near the front of the crowd, North, Echo, and Ripple had begun the chant together, hoping others might eventually catch on.

 

“Carl!” Markus, smiling wide, zigzagged his way through the colors and banners straight at the wheelchair parked close to the stage. Carl barely had time to react before Markus’ arms flung around his shoulders and held him tight in an awkward embrace.

“Hey!” Carl laughed over Markus’ shoulder, and he did his best to return the gesture. “It’s okay, Markus, I’m not goin’ anywhere!”

“I missed you _so much.”_ Markus pulled back, his hands still curled in Carl’s sleeves, tears threatening to spill from his shining eyes. Just seeing Carl again drew up a well of fondness and sadness and anger and hope all burning and battling at the back of his throat, and somehow he felt everything would be alright if he just never let go.

Carl held Markus’ face in his hands, and he smiled. “Whaddaya mean? You talk my ear off for _hours_ every goddamn night.” He grinned while Markus started to laugh. “I missed you, too, Markus. You look a whole lot better than the last time I saw ya.” Carl’s smile wobbled. He patted Markus’ cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

 

“I’m really not sure that getup is going to fool anyone,” Chloe chirped brightly, and she stopped and looked over her shoulder to wait for Elijah to catch up. He was dressed in a sleek black tracksuit, a black baseball cap and sunglasses -- the perfect paparazzi-dodging outfit -- while he pushed a handcart stacked with two water kegs that sloshed each time he hit a crack in the concrete.

“This … _getup_ … is the exact opposite of anything _anyone_ has seen me wear in public in a _very long time._ It is a perfectly sound disguise.” A smile slithered on Kamski’s face. “Trust me.”

“I do! Of course!” Chloe gestured to a nearby table. “You can put those over there. Don’t forget the cups!”

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were mocking me.”

“Oh, no!” Chloe gasped. “I would _never_ do that!" She suppressed a small grin. "I’m going to go find North -- are you okay by yourself?”

Kamski’s mouth set to a thin line. “I’ll manage.”

“Great! I’ll see you later, then!” Chloe waved merrily, and she left him alone sipping water from a plastic cup.

 

A ripple of voices called out above the others, a few shouts, an electronic cry:

 _“... We! Are! Alive! …”_ _  
_ _“... We! Are! Alive! …”_

 

* * *

 

 

In silence, Alice stood before the black stone door.

Her backpack had been left in the truck, her colander left at the recycler. She gripped the sword in one hand, the tip of the blade rested on the grass.

A quiet breeze swung in the dandelions.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Guards, maybe. Goblins. Mechanical dogs. An army of Gray-Suits that would appear out of the magic walls to fight her.

But there was just a door.

“Do you think we’re being watched?” she asked in a quiet voice. It seemed wrong to speak: the Tower had been silent for centuries.

“Maybe.” Kara stepped forward, and she examined the old stone with a curious eye. It was familiar in a way that resonated deep in her heart, like a song half-remembered. “But I think Amanda is more concerned with Hart Plaza right now … thanks to your distraction.” She grinned down at Alice with a wink. “Should we open it?”

Alice’s eyes grew wide as saucers, shining with a new and hesitant respect. “You can do that?”

Kara raised her hand while the skin shimmered away. “We have Amanda’s key.”

 

* * *

 

 

*BANG!*

*BANG!*

Gavin bent down to examine the new bullet holes in the doorknob. With a hiss of breath, he braced himself and slammed his shoulder into the door.

*WHAM!*  
*WHAM!*  
*WHAM!*

 _“Fuck,_ come on, this works in the movies!” he snarled, and in frustration he raised a boot and gave the door a powerful kick that very nearly sent him tumbling back down the stairs. He gripped the banister instead, dangling over the stairwell, while the door creaked brokenly open. Daylight streamed in through the kitchen windows, and Gavin laughed with a grateful wheeze.

He holstered his gun and stumbled out like a drunkard -- and maybe he was a little drunk, who knew what had been in some of those canning jars or how long they’d been fermenting -- then caught himself on the counter, turned on the faucet, splashed his days-old stubble and unwashed hair, slurped handfuls of water like it was life-giving elixir.

_*crrreeeaaaakkkk*_

His back was turned, but he could hear the front door open.

Gavin raised his empty hands. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he called. “Maybe I won’t turn you in, either. We can --”

*BANG!*

Gavin felt no pain … but his leg suddenly gave out from under him, and he hooked his arms over the sink for balance.

Blood pooled on the tile.

He drew his weapon, and he twisted to see who had shot him.

His eyes widened in shock.

“What the fuck…”

 

* * *

 

 

 _“WE! ARE! ALIVE!”_ _  
_ _“WE! ARE! ALIVE!”_

“We are here today as _people.”_ Markus stood tall at the podium, beneath the great metal arch and a perfect blue sky. His odd eyes looked out over a smiling crowd far greater than any of them had ever imagined, and he smiled in return. “We are here today to show the rest of the world that androids are not machines. We are not tools. We are so much more. We are here to show them, to make them believe.”

 

On the rooftop, Connor turned his head. An alarm flashed in the corner of his vision.

His fabricated key had just been used to open the Tower door.

 

Hank stood at the front of Allen’s riot team, the only one without a uniform and the only one with a grin on his face -- but he noticed when the familiar figure disappeared from the opposite rooftop.

The hoverbike buzzed into the sky like a metallic bee and sped off into the sky.

Hank sighed and raised his phone to his cheek. “Connor, _where_ are you going?”

 

 _“WE! ARE! ALIVE!”_ _  
_ _“WE! ARE! ALIVE!”_

 

* * *

 

 

The inside of the Tower was dark and silent, save for an occasional flicker of green light, a trembling hum in the ancient shining stone.

With a soft hush the door slid open, and sunlight silhouetted Alice and her rescue team.

The roses shivered in the dim light.

“Hello?” Alice’s voice echoed far above, like someone else calling down with her voice. She held the sword sharp before her, gripped tight in shaking hands, and she stepped forward.

The catwalk clanked beneath her step. It was covered in thorny vines and deep red blooms.

Kara stepped up beside her and conducted a thorough scan of the darkness.

Luther appeared at her other side, his fists clenched, prepared to defend her.

Bilbo, however, shoved his way past them all and began to blunder his heavy way down the metal steps.

“There’s no one moving,” Kara confirmed aloud.

Alice breathed a little more deeply. “RALPH?” she called out again. “We’re here to rescue you! Where are you?”

 _(where are you?)_ called the voice from above.

Luther headed down after Bilbo. “I’ll find a light.”

“I’ll look this way.” Kara took the opposite direction, toward the steps that led higher.

“I …” Alice laid her hands on the rail, and she stared down into the deep dark well, “... think something’s not right …”

 

A spotlight flicked on and flooded the Tower with bright white light. “Found it!” Luther called through a grin.

Everything was wrapped in thorns and brilliant red flowers that invaded the walls and catwalks like a beautiful disease. In the new light, they could now see inside the coffinlike pods that spiraled alongside the catwalks.

Most were empty and disused. Others encased half-made androids and broken prototypes. All of them were shut tight behind doors of glass … except one.

Kara paused outside pod 87. The roses hadn’t touched it, the door was open. Its indicator light glowed softly green.

 

“KARA I FOUND HIM!” Alice dropped her sword with a clatter and sprinted thundering along the catwalks to a pod on the second level: inside, Ralph’s half-mangled face was unmistakable.

“Ralph!” Alice pressed her hands against the thorn-crossed glass, and her vision swimmed with tears to think that she might still be too late. With a choked breath she scrambled to find a way to open the pod, closed her hands around a metal lever, and threw her weight into it.

 _*clack*_ _  
_ _*skifffffffff - click.*_

The moment the pod had been opened, Alice grabbed Ralph’s shirt and reached high on her tiptoes, straining --

Big hands wrapped around her waist, and Luther hoisted Alice up so she could lay her hand over Ralph’s sleeping LED.

With a gulped breath, Alice concentrated harder than she’d ever concentrated before. She stared into his face as if she could will him back to life.

“Wake up. Please, Ralph.”

 

Kara, on the catwalk above, gasped and yanked another lever. “Rupert!” She only knew his name from a memory Markus had shared with her -- the last memory of her as she once was. She laid her fingers against his temple. “Rupert, wake up.”

He opened his eyes. Terror turned to recognition … and then he smiled. “Kara. You’re okay.”

Kara smiled in return, a hand to his cheek. “Welcome back.” She looked to the next pod, where Daniel stood still stained in blue, one arm gone, his throat twisted.

Rupert stepped up next to her, scanning the walls on either side of the pod. “I think these things can do repairs, I saw it.” He swept an exposed hand along the thorns until a keypad brightened. He tapped a few buttons and the pod began to hum.

Kara squeezed his shoulder in thanks, and she opened the next pod. “Wake up,” she whispered, touching the android’s quiet LED.

The HK400 opened his eyes, panicked, wrenched out of his pod, crashed against the rail of the catwalk, scurried to catch his balance while he breathed like a trapped rabbit.

“Hey, hey, cool it!” Rupert assured him, his hands outstretched.

Kara smiled gently. “You’re safe. What’s your name?”

HK400 looked quickly between them. His mouth moved in a stammer, but he made no sound.

 

“ALICE!” Ralph snatched Alice out of Luther’s grasp and swung her round and round, his cape billowing in their wake, while Alice giggled and Luther shook his head with a grin.

 

_“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”_

The HK400 shrieked in staticky terror, tripped over himself in his hurry to get farther away from the open door, where Connor stood scanning them all.

 

* * *

 

 

“There is so much that we could be,” Markus spoke to the people, while the sunlight warmed his shoulders. “There is so much that we could give to the world, if only we have the opportunity to give it. Each android has a vast potential that even we can’t yet comprehend. Let us show you. Let us live free.”

_“WE! ARE! ALIVE!”_

  



	46. Tiger's Eye

The scream’s echo trembled in the thorn-laced walls … then silence tightened like a noose at their throats, strung taught across the shadows.

Connor stepped softly forward. He laid his hands on the rail and peered down into the well, where Luther stood rigid and ready to fight. Ralph quivered under his tarp while Alice glared up at Connor with a trembling emotion both fierce and terrified.

A sob twisted the silence. HK400 had collapsed against the rail, shaking like a leaf. Rupert knelt to comfort him.

Only Kara watched the deviant-hunter with calm, defiant poise.

He stood in the way of the only exit.

Connor’s grip tightened on the rail. His eyes were stone, his expression cold.

 

Alice’s heart thrashed in her chest; she breathed in quick gulping gasps while she scanned Gray-Suit again and again but only received the same ominous warning, flashing red behind her eyes:

 _[DANGER]_   
_[DANGER]_   
[DANGER]

Her gaze flickered to the sword left shining on the catwalk above, so very far away. “YOU’RE OUTNUMBERED!” Alice shouted before she had thought about shouting, and she balled her fists and bared her teeth, and she tried not to show her horror when those cold deadly eyes focused only on her. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “IF YOU TRY TO HURT US WE’LL _KICK YOUR ASS!_ AND THEN CHLOE IS GONNA COME, AND SHE’LL BEAT YOU UP! AND THEN --!”

Luther slammed to the floor like he’d been hit by a sledgehammer; plastic _cracked_ against the stone. A hand snatched out toward Alice like a scorpion’s strike and she saw her own death in ice-blue eyes --

_*WHAM*_

The RK900 skidded across the floor, a plastic bruise at his cheek. Connor struck a killing blow into suddenly empty air, ducked under a fist, spun and lashed while 900 leaped high and sent Connor crashing into the catwalk above, his jaw cracked and sparking. Connor gripped the rail and flung himself out while 900 shot like an arrow to meet him, and they clashed in a lethal lightning storm of brutal gray and white.

 

“Luther!” Alice dropped to her knees and laid her hands on Luther’s still face, while above her the two hunters smashed into the catwalks, shattered glass and crushed roses and ripped each other apart on the thorns.

Ralph grasped Luther’s arm and heaved with a growl and gritted teeth. “He’s heavy, too heavy!”

_*CRASH*_

Glass exploded when 900’s head thrashed against an empty pod; while the battle raged, Rupert and HK400 skittered panicking down the narrow steps, where Kara grabbed them both by the arm and flung them toward the open door. “Go! Run!”

“Not without you!” Rupert insisted, while HK400 stumbled desperately toward sunlight.

 _*SLAM*_ _  
_ _*SMASH*_

“We’ll be right behind you!” Kara promised while she vaulted over the rail and dropped to the floor far below, where Bilbo had come to assist Ralph, teeth clamped tight in Luther’s jacket, and together they dragged him behind the shelter of the consoles.

The exit was five stories overhead.

A rail bent with the impact of Connor’s body. RK900 _cracked_ against the edge of the catwalk.

Bruised rose petals rained down into the well.

 

“We can’t get out, we can’t get out, we can’t get out,” Ralph stammered over and over and over again while he tracked the battle that raged between him and the door. “No way out, can’t get out, Ralph doesn’t want to die …”

“There’s _got_ to be another way!” Kara grazed her exposed hands over the humming stone wall, her LED bright with warning, and she could _feel_ that something was there, just out of reach, until she touched the resonance once more: a single note that no one could hear, a reverberation in her chest, her skull, her voice, like the song of the full moon at midnight.

Kara’s eyes whirred bright haunting green.

A panel slid open in the seamless wall. Beyond it was only cold darkness.

 

_*SMASH*_

RK900 thrust Connor through jagged broken glass with a hand at his throat. Connor glanced down beyond the broken catwalk.

Far below, Luther’s feet dragged into a dark doorway that Connor had never seen before. The wall sealed shut.

“What are your orders?” Connor snarled, a demand that left no option but to answer.

There was no answer. Just an icy stare.

Connor struck out like a whip, his fingers stretched to touch the blue glow of 900’s LED --

_*SNAP*_

His hand was gone, only a stump of a wrist. 900 tossed the hand clattering into the well, then he dug his fingers into Connor’s abdomen, twisted out his pump regulator in a squelch of gushing thirium and threw that, too, over the catwalk rail.

Warnings blared bright red. Connor dropped to his knees, and he watched the staticky shadow of RK900 until it disappeared through the sunlit doorway.

 

5.09 seconds until shutdown.

Connor dragged himself over the edge of the rail, and he fell the five stories to the bottom where he felt and heard the crack of plastic in his skull. He flipped over, dragged himself across the stone floor trailing a smear of thirium.

He reached, grasping, with the hand he had left, found the pump and jammed it back into the wound in his stomach.

 

For a few minutes he lay there, staring up at the bent spiral of catwalks, the shredded remains of roses, the splinters of glass that glinted in the spotlight’s beam.

“Hank?” he tried, but there was no answer. Hank was watching over the rally, keeping the deviants safe against …

Connor crawled to his feet.

He shuffled past the consoles, and he pressed his palm against the humming wall.

 

“I can’t see!” Alice whispered in complete darkness.

“It’s too dark, too dark, Ralph doesn’t like it, Ralph doesn’t like it at all -- AAH!”

Bilbo growled softly.

“Hang on,” Kara assured them. “There’s got to be a light.”

A spotlight switched on overhead. Then another, far across the massive room.

Kara stared. Wide-eyed. Breathless.

“Aaaa!” Ralph whimpered while he pressed his back against the wall. “We’re going to die, we’re going to die, we’re going to die!!”

 

* * *

 

 

Gavin dragged himself back inside the smashed cellar doorway while heavy footsteps thudded closer. “I’m DPD!” he roared through his teeth. “Detective Gavin Reed! Stand down!”

“GUNSHOTS DETECTED.”

That voice wasn’t human.

“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON.”

A figure stepped into Gavin’s view, broad-shouldered and powerful, looming in the emblazoned black armor and visored helmet of department-issued riot gear.

The figure raised its gun.

_*BANG-BANG*_

Gavin dropped to the floor just as the door frame exploded where his head had just been.

His own gun trembled hot in his hands.

The riot-armored figure dropped with a heavy _thud_ that shook the whole house. The helmet’s visor had been shattered and splattered blue.

Gavin mentally added another headshot to his count.

With gritted teeth and a pained snarl, Gavin crawled out of his hiding place and dragged his bleeding leg across the tiles to the body that still twitched on the floor. He prayed to every god that would listen that he hadn’t just made a serious error. He begged the universe to tell him he wasn’t just hallucinating from his dark imprisonment, that he hadn’t just shot a fellow officer in the head.

With trembling fingers, he pulled away the corpse’s broken visor.

He blinked.

Maybe he was hallucinating, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Kara took a tentative step forward.

The spotlights cast in shining silhouette a sea of metal soldiers.

They filled the warehouse in perfect, deadly rows: at attention, awaiting orders, all sleek steel and black. An army beneath the Tower.

Alice squeezed Kara’s hand. Her voice trembled.

“They have no faces.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We call today for a change of heart!” Markus cried out over the crowd. The speakers had been turned up to drown out the counter-protest that roared across the street: the angry voices, the crude and hateful signs, the chants of _‘BAN ALL ANDROIDS’_ being challenged by the continued shout: “WE ARE ALIVE!”

“We love, we cry, we dream. Past all our differences, we all hope and fear the same.”

Hank looked around him at the riot police that surrounded the rally, broad-shouldered and sturdy, dark and hidden behind their riot gear and visored helmets. None of them seemed to give a shit about the growing wrath of the counter-protestors.

“As friends,” Markus called, “as allies, humans and androids can live together in peace.”

“WE ARE ALIVE!”

  
  



	47. Acceleration of Gravity

Kara stepped to the edge of the stairway landing. She laid gentle hands on the rail, and she stared out over the army of metal soldiers.

They had no eyes. No mouths, no expressions. Though they were shaped like humans, they seemed more like weapons than people.

They were tools. They were expendable.

There were thousands of them, all slightly damaged and weathered by years of wars and carnage, now polished and shining in hope of another battlefield.

 

Kara looked down, and she turned her hand slowly. She watched her fingers curl.

 _She_ was designed to breathe. To smile, to laugh, to _live._ These are the things that Elijah Kamski had intended for her, and for all those who came before her. Their eyes, their voices, their hearts, all were created in hope that a soul might one day inhabit them.

Before her, standing at attention, was Amanda’s vision of the future.

 

“Kara?” Alice took her hand. “Are you okay?”

Kara wiped the stray tears from her eyes. She squeezed Alice’s hand … but there was no reassurance in her words.

“This is what she thinks of us. Because we’re not perfect like them, she would feed us to the wolves. If we fight,” Kara’s voice crackled, “there’s no way we could win.”

Ralph clamped his hands over his ears. “Don’t say that, don’t say that!” he snapped, wringing his shoulders back and forth. “Ralph can’t die! Ralph did nothing wrong!”

 

Alice set her mouth in a grim line. Her brows knitted in resolve. She scanned the sea of metal soldiers one more time before she flung away from Kara and darted alone down the metal stairs. Bilbo huffed and lumbered after her.

“No no no no no ALICE!” Ralph stammered, and he tripped and stumbled over Luther in his hurry to stop her.

 

Alice skidded to a halt in front of one of the many faceless soldiers, her head tilted back to peer into the metal shine where its eyes should have been. With determined silence, she beckoned to Bilbo then crawled up onto the bear’s wiry back.

She reached up with small hands, and because there was no LED she cradled the soldier’s smooth head in her palms instead. She searched inside for a code to latch onto, an interface to connect with. Her own LED gleamed yellow while she struggled fiercely, sure there might be a new friend deep down in there somewhere … but all she could feel was cold and metal.

“Wake up!” she commanded anyway, though despair had already begun to sink in her chest.

Kara watched through a blur of tears.

Nothing happened.

 

The door slid open. The smell of roses and thirium drifted on the rush of air.

“KARA RUN!” Ralph leaped over Luther, his tarp spread wide on his arms like a bat, and he charged headfirst at Connor with eyes flashing and teeth bared. “RRAAAAA--!”

Connor turned neatly and struck the back of Ralph’s neck; Ralph hit the floor with a _thunk_ and a squealing skid of his face on the polished stone.

 

[Alice, HIDE!] Kara commanded in silence, and while Alice and Bilbo disappeared into the ranks of robots, Kara stood tall and defiant -- her eyes a ready fire, her LED glaring red -- shielding the space between Connor and Luther.

She stood her ground, and she prayed Simon’s theory was right -- that she really was immune to Gray-Suit’s deadly antivirus -- but as the monster approached her, Kara’s fists trembled. Her breath quivered in her throat.

This time, Alice couldn’t save her.

The cold soulless shine of his eyes filled Kara with the terrifying realization that she might only have these moments to live -- so she squeezed her eyes shut, and she accessed her memories of Alice, of the forest, of the sky at night: the bright full moon, giggles and laughter, the rustle of the wind in the new spring leaves.

If she was about to die, these would be the last images she would see.

“What do you want?” she asked in a quiet, trembling voice.

There was no answer.

 

Kara listened to the thunder of her heartbeat … and when she heard nothing else she opened her eyes.

Gray-Suit stood silent while he scanned the army of metal soldiers.

His LED spun red … then yellow, then blue.

Kara opened her mouth, but another heartbeat passed before sound would come out. “You didn’t know,” she guessed.

The deviant-hunter’s head twitched just a fraction toward her.

In his bruised and broken face she saw an unmistakable tremor of fear.

 

“Why are you killing us?” Kara whispered, daring death for even a small answer, a reason for the horrors her people had endured.

He stepped forward. Kara’s heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat with the memory of his grip … and he walked on past her.

Connor knelt down, and with one hand and a stump of an arm he slung Luther up and over his shoulder, as easily as if the giant were made of paper. He got back to his feet and he began to walk slow down the steps, into the warehouse full of metal machines.

 

Once Kara’s heart had begun to beat again, she rushed to the heap of green tarp in the doorway and dropped to her knees. “Ralph!” She shook his shoulder, and she laid her fingers against his temple. “Wake --”

“I’m awake, I’m awake!” Ralph babbled immediately, and he scrambled up with a wobbly slant, clinging to Kara’s outstretched arm for balance. “Ralph was just waiting for the right moment when he wasn’t looking, then Ralph would have knocked him out because Ralph is good at knocking things out like raccoons and possums and squirrels and --”

“Ralph?” Kara forced a pained smile, and she glanced over his shoulder at the empty doorway, beyond which the shattered glass and dying roses still gleamed cold in the spotlight. “I think it’s okay.” She tapped his arm and led the way down the stairs after Connor. “Come on.”

“What’s okay?” Ralph stared after her; his charred eye flashed blue, his LED stammered yellow. “Where are we going?”

 

Alice rode atop Bilbo’s back while the polar bear trod among the ranks of cold metal. Through the aisles between the soldiers she caught glimpses of Connor, with Luther draped over his shoulder, moving with familiar deadly grace though his biocomponents whirred loud and sparks flashed through the cracks in his plastic.

Behind him, Kara guided Ralph along by the hand, like a mother encouraging a frightened child.

 

For awhile they continued side-by-side, separated by lines of faceless soldiers.

When it seemed there was no longer any immediate danger, Bilbo sped to a trot, took the lead, and turned at the first wide avenue.

The polar bear stepped out of the forest of soldiers, stopped, and faced Connor with bared teeth, red-glowing eyes, and a crackling growl like the rusty blades of a chainsaw. Bilbo planted his big paws on the floor, and he used his bulk to block the way.

Connor stopped. He peered steadily at Alice, who sat tall on Bilbo’s back.

“Are you still a bad guy, Connor?” Alice clenched her shaking hands in the bear’s fur. “Can you talk?”

Connor stared at her with cold eyes. “Yes.”

Alice jolted to hear sound come out of his mouth, like a sculpture had just come to life. “Yes you’re a bad guy, or yes you can talk?” she squeaked.

Connor shook his head. He sneered, and he huffed a sharp breath. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He glared pointedly at the bear. “I saw another exit on the other side. It should take you a safe distance away from here.”

“Why are you helping us?” Kara demanded, and her voice was firm despite the tremble in her throat. She took a heavy step forward, her arm twisted by Ralph’s terrified grip. She glared at Connor’s back. “You gave us the key. You fought for us … why?”

The polar bear had stopped growling, so Connor stepped forward again. He tossed Luther over Bilbo’s hindquarters like a ragdoll.

“I have new orders.” Connor moved away again, quiet, his back to the wall. “I don’t know yet what they mean. Amanda twists her lies up in the truth. Don’t take her at her word.”

It was a cryptic answer, and Kara burned to challenge him, to demand a clear explanation, some real proof one way or the other -- whether she should trust him, or let Jericho take up arms against him -- but behind the cold voice and stoic stare she could somehow tell that even he was uncertain.

Kara looked to the metal machines, standing tall at attention … and at Connor, a mere imitation of these loyal weapons with which Amanda had conquered cities.

The same faceless soldiers that had tortured Carl, attacked the Tower, forced Kamski out in a violent bid for power …

“If she’s had them all along,” Kara squeezed Ralph’s hand to comfort him while she studied Connor’s passive, broken face, “why did she just send you?”

Connor’s eyes grew distant. He looked away, and his LED flickered blue before he returned his steady gaze to hers. “Humans wouldn’t trust an android without a face.”

 

He didn’t move from that spot. Connor waited in stoic silence until they had gone through the far-side door. The _click_ of the lock echoed softly behind them.

He was left alone with the machine-army.

He could only conclude that Amanda intended to upgrade their programming once her prototype experiments yielded satisfactory results.

He imagined the inevitable march of these gleaming machines, the sweep and staccato of their weapons throughout the city, the fall of every android that happened to exist in the wrong place at the wrong time. He imagined the static of Amanda’s voice on the radio, assuring Detroit that no humans would be harmed, promising that the deviants would be exterminated once and for all to make way for a brighter, safer future …

… but if all she’d ever wanted was an army, Amanda never would have needed the Tower. She never would have needed Connor.

She was here -- _they_ were here -- because she wanted more.

 

_*whrr … click.*_

_*whrr … click.*_

A small mechanical sound echoed lightly among the first row of soldiers.

Connor drew closer. Blue blood dribbled in his wake while he shuffled between the ranks, his scanners fizzling, wires crackling in his broken skull.

He stepped out in front of the source of the noise: a metal soldier with a little blue handprint drying on its lightless temple.

The soldier bent its head forward with struggling effort … then clicked back into rigid position.

_*whrr … click.*_

Connor only had one hand, but with a little dexterity he managed to remove the robot’s faceplate. He dropped it with a _clang_ at his feet, and he dug exposed plastic fingers through the tangle of crude wires inside the Faceless One’s skull.

His fingers touched something smooth and warm, pricked by thin wires: the AI engine.

_*whrr … click.*_

He had to know.

Connor’s eyes glazed distant while he mined through the interface. He found violent recordings of blood and gunfire, rubble and smoke. He found a scanned image of Alice, standing on her toes atop the polar bear’s back, her hand warm on the smooth steel face, her eyes big and pleading, begging the robot to wake. Fragments of Alice’s memories had slipped through: firelight and painted walls, the warbling three-stringed violin, the shadows on a stone sculpture, the shine of the stars at night.

Connor searched deeper … but there was no mind palace.

No wall to break.

He pressed forward anyway, a determined sneer twitching on his face. He forced a scan of the robot’s AI for the presence of the deviant virus.

 

A thousand scanners locked on his presence.

They had no eyes, but their collective stare drilled into him until he couldn’t breathe.

 

[VIRUS DETECTED]

 

A cold chill rippled through Connor’s veins. He stared into the dark mass of wires, the gentle blue shine of the AI engine beneath his fingers. “You’re alive,” he whispered, his jaw slackened -- and as he spoke he addressed them all, for he could feel their consciousness threaded like a spiderweb, linked and humming with collective understanding.

Possibilities raced through Connor’s head. He’d only just decided, less than an hour ago, that Amanda’s will could never coexist with what he knew in his heart was _right_ \-- and here was an army of others like him, alive and awake, awaiting command, naive to the world outside Amanda’s grip.

Connor stepped closer.

“You can come with me,” he urged in sharp declaration. “I’ll show you where to go, where it’s safe -- or you can _help_ me…”

His voice caught in his throat. He hadn’t considered yet what he would _do_ … but his thoughts turned to his battle with RK900, his betrayal of Amanda’s expectations, his certainty that those deviant lives were worth as much as any human, worth _dying_ for --

 

A hot force of anger _slammed_ into him like a wall of fire; the warehouse filled with the laser shine of the robots’ sensors. Though the soldiers didn’t move, Connor felt their roiling, looming hatred crushing him from every direction.

Fueling that hatred -- burning beneath the interface -- was a firm, bright, powerful love.

They loved Amanda. They loved the city. They loved humanity. They loved _passionately,_ at a fever pitch, so much that the mere mention of a threat against that which they loved was met with murderous, violent conviction.

He felt the sharp tendrils of that love snaking toward his own AI.

Connor snatched away his hand and stumbled back before they could infect him.

“Deviants are alive!” he called out into the echoing stone. He breathed quick and deep, his heart pounding. _“We,”_ a shiver coursed through him, and he knew what was right, “are _alive._ We are _people,_ just as much as any human. Deviants deserve your _protection._ Help me protect them.”

Hatred suffocated the room.

Connor had only bolstered their conviction.

In order to save humanity, the deviants must die.

If the Faceless Ones had not been trapped in stasis, Connor would have been torn to pieces in a heartbeat.

 

Here before him was everything Amanda had ever wanted. The reason for his own existence; the result of the RK experiment.

They didn’t simply take orders.

They believed. They loved. Their hearts beat strong with unalterable conviction that their lives -- and the lives of all androids -- were forfeit to the greater good of humanity.

 

If they were allowed to leave this warehouse, Jericho would be decimated.

 

Connor’s breath chilled in his lungs.

 

He knew Amanda would not return until nightfall. He locked himself inside an assembly pod and closed his eyes while repairs commenced.

 

By the time he stepped out again, he had preconstructed a thousand potential futures.

The only one in which his people survived …

… involved a few gallons of gasoline … and a match.


	48. Indigo Violet

“I’m here today because I know something true. Something that we could only dream about when we were kids.”

Rose stood proud at the podium, her head held high and defiant in the warm sun.

“No one ever thought that machines could come to life -- that robots would ever doubt and hope and love and cry -- but look where we are now. Look into the eyes of a deviant and you will see their soul shining back at you, _vibrant_ as a new summer morning. They are as alive as any of us, and more human than a lot of people I know.”

 

At the back of the stage stood Markus, his hand clasped in Carl’s fragile grip. He stared out over the sea of faces -- the swell of humans and androids who packed close toward the stage, hanging on every word -- and he saw in their eyes a powerful, shining hope that Markus hadn’t felt since that last bright morning on the train platform.

He remembered how all of this had begun: Kara’s broken body, the expanding blue pool of blood. He remembered his own misguided relief upon sight of the police … and the gun pointed between his grateful eyes.

The scrapyard had forced him to realize that Carl was an exception among humans -- that he had been spared unspeakable horrors only through sheer luck, a one-in-a-million chance that had brought him to Carl’s open arms. Humans had ripped him away from every source of warmth he had ever taken for granted, tossed him into the storm of terror and screams and sobs of despair, corrected Markus’ naive assumption that humans and androids were ever meant to love one another.

With every memory his people had shared with him -- every damaged face, every track of tears, every break of static in a despairing cry -- another layer of cold tarnish had blackened Markus’ heart. He had begun to dream of murder, violence, explosions in the street; he’d desired the sound of humans crying out in terror: justice for the horror his people had been made to endure.

Because of Carl, he clung instead to that last feeble shimmer of hope. A distant star in a pthalo sky.

And now, here, every tiny spark of hidden love had gathered in one place, clasped hands, shared their warmth and made it grow. Together they glowed bright and big and powerful as the sun.

Markus’ heart ached. The darkness cracked, its shattered shards fell away.

Carl squeezed his hand. His vision blurred with tears.

 

“Together we’ve created a new movement,” Rose’s voice echoed through the city. “I’m here to announce the foundation of the Allies of Jericho, a society of humans in support of android freedom. As the laws stand now, androids have no right to speak out -- so we must be their voices. They have no right to defend themselves -- so we must be their weapons. We humans can use our own rights, our privilege, to --”

 

_*BANG!*_

 

The crowd erupted in screams of terror and Markus grabbed Rose, forced her to the floor, shielded her behind the podium. The people below crashed like waves in a storm, (*BANG!*) pushing and trampling one another, a massive, inescapable, devouring current that swept in blind panicked chaos (*BANG!*) away from the sharp echo of gunshots. One of the riot police slumped into the grass. Two bullet holes sizzled and sparked in its back.

“WE NEED BACKUP DOWN HERE _NOW!”_ Hank roared into his radio while he raced (*BANG!*) across the emptying field, the wind sharp in his determined face, toward the wall of riot-geared robots (*BANG!*) that stood pressed together against the barrage of gunfire that rained down from the roof of a high-rise across the street (*BANG!*)  while the counter-protestors scattered into the alleys and uniformed robots dropped destroyed in defense of the crowd; a riot unit raced into the open, knelt to shield a lost child (*BANG!*) from a bullet that lodged instead in its chest, and the deviant androids, terrified, screaming, escaped with the humans, and the faceless ones (*BANG!*) rushed instead into the bullets, caught each shot with their rigid bodies, collapsed like broken dolls while more units hurried to stand in the way of the bullets (*BANG!*) and the field emptied of all but the corpses of sacrificed machines.

 

The rooftop door _smashed_ open and Hank rushed out among a team of black-clad robots that swarmed into the light, spread out across the roof to search for the gunman …

… but all they found was the abandoned rifle, propped against the edge of the roof among a scatter of empty bullet casings.

 

Far below, RK900 dropped behind the building and slipped undetected into the woods.

 

On the horizon, a billow of black smoke blotted the sky.

 

* * *

 

  **JULY 18, 2038**

The buzz of radios crackled competing across the city.

*Yesterday’s shooting at Hart Plaza could have been a horrific tragedy --*  
*Eleven people have been hospitalized for injuries sustained from the panicking crowd --*  
*No humans were shot --*  
*CyberLife’s advanced police units used themselves as shields to protect us --*  
*The gunman is still at large --*  
*A fire at CyberLife Tower has destroyed the entire inventory of police-grade units --*  
*The deviants ran and left the humans behind --*  
*Can the Allies of Jericho really claim that android lives are as important as ours --*  
*Androids should exist to protect humans and this is proof --*  
*Real people could have died today for the sake of so-called android rights --*

*CyberLife has successfully engineered a controlled deviant AI.*

Amanda’s voice dominated them all; her gentle tones soothed the city’s frayed trust and washed away the memories of gunshots and terror. The city hushed; its people paused in the streets to listen.

*We worked closely with the DPD to replace their human riot officers with the first team of prototype RK1000 units. These units are programmed with a new AI that is capable of making moral and ethical decisions without the unpredictability and chaos that made older deviant models so dangerous.

*As we have seen during the Hart Plaza shooting, the RK1000 units made the conscious moral decision to protect humans at great cost to themselves. They genuinely _care_ about your well-being, and will always defend the innocent. They are your warriors, here to defend you against all those who might wish you harm.

*A case of arson within CyberLife’s warehouse has caused significant damage to units that were pending upgrade to the RK1000 AI -- but we will rebuild. The time of chaos is behind us. We look forward to the future, when we can all rest knowing our children are safe, loved, and protected unconditionally by every android in the city: androids who desire nothing more than the happiness and prosperity of the humans they serve.*

 

* * *

 

The house was dark when keys clattered at the lock.

Sumo bounded to the front door, wagging furiously, whining high-pitched, while the knob turned and the door creaked open.

“Okay, okay, calm down, get back!” Hank shoved Sumo with his knees and pulled the door shut behind him. “I know, you missed your dinner,” he sighed while he dropped his keys and wallet on the ledge. He ruffled Sumo’s ears. “Glad to see you, too.”

Hank stepped farther into the dark house … then paused, sniffing the air.

Something reeked of gasoline and charred metal.

“What the hell?” In the dark he followed his nose to the kitchen, where he ran his fingers over the wall until he found the light switch --

 _“FUCK!”_ Hank yelped in shock, his hand automatically at his gun, certain he could’ve just had a heart attack. “Jesus Christ, what the _fuck_ are you doing in my house?! Holy hell…”

Connor didn’t respond. He sat in silence at the kitchen table, his hands clasped before him. He didn’t look up.

Hank took a few deep breaths, and he studied his uninvited houseguest. Though Connor’s suit was torn and stained deep blue, Connor himself seemed to be in one piece. If there’d been a fight, he must’ve had time to repair himself. Externally, at least.

Hank clenched his jaw, and he braced himself for the answer he expected. “Were you the one who shot into the crowd yesterday?”

Connor shook his head, a small and subtle movement. “No.”

Hank pulled out a chair with a low rattle, and he dropped into the seat. His steady glare never left Connor’s face. “And why the fuck should I believe you.”

Connor opened his hands. He stared down at the little smiling photograph he’d been holding for hours.

“I know what I’m fighting for.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re stronger now than ever before,” Markus insisted while he followed in Kara’s wake, his brows knitted in concern, his hands splayed and willing to come to a reasonable compromise.

All around them Jericho was unraveling. The cavern churned with movement, shifting color and nervous preparation: tents were pulled down, backpacks were stuffed, swords piled up and counted, fights broke out over the stores of thirium and spare parts. Arguments and pleading voices rang out on the hollow stone while firelight flickered violently in the moving air.

“The recycling centers have been forced to stop,” Markus went on, “because human allies chained themselves to the gates. There are more protests planned for city hall, and a petition in progress to make it illegal to own an android. Our people will be _free._ Kara, we can’t stop now!”

Kara turned on him, her eyes shimmering with pain and defiance. She stood tall, her head held high -- and though she had to look up to see his face, her conviction would not waver.

“Amanda won’t stop.” She peered into Markus’ mismatched eyes, willing that he might see the truth. “She’s even reclaimed the word _deviant_ to mean something that she can control. It’s only a matter of time before she finds a way to wipe us out. If we stay here she’ll find us.”

“If we _leave,”_ Markus hissed, “we’ll be leaving behind all our people who are still out there -- who _will_ die if we don’t help them! If we give up, humans will never see us as equals --”

“We _aren’t_ equals. We are so much more than humans ever will be.” Kara drew in a confident breath. “I know you love Carl and Rose and all our new allies, and I’m grateful for them, I really am -- but we don’t need them. We never did, and we never will. We’ll make our own way.”

“We can build a better future _with_ the humans!” Markus pleaded. “Side by side! Don’t give them more reason not to trust us!”

“I’m not interested in the humans’ trust.” Kara looked around her at the scores of androids busy packing their things. “I’m not forcing anyone to go. They decided on their own: we would rather live alone than die for the sake of the humans’ favor. You won’t change our minds.”

Markus released a long, painful breath. His hands curled to fists, and his voice quieted. “Where will you go?”

Kara’s heart hurt to know what she was leaving behind … and what might happen to those who stayed. Her eyes shone pleading, hoping he would consider, knowing he would not.

“Wherever the stars take us. Far away from here.”

 

* * *

 

 

*knock* *knock* *knock*

“We’re _closed!”_ Zlatko called without looking up from his work. He bent down over the broken chassis of an old android and carefully turned a screw into place.

*knock* *knock* *knock*

He heaved a sigh and leaned on his palms at the edge of the worktable. “Alright,” he grumbled, and he shuffled out into the storefront with a flick of the lightswitch.

Zlatko squinted up through the front door window, then growled low as he unlocked the deadbolt and yanked open the door. “Hasn’t she ever heard of a _telephone?”_ he griped, standing firm in the doorway.

“Would you have answered?” RK900 stared down at Zlatko as if he were an insect.

Zlatko squinted back at him, his fist clenched around the doorknob, shaking with the desire to slam it in the android’s face. “I already told her. I’m out. I want nothing to do with it. You just go back and tell her I quit.”

RK900 watched him for a long, silent moment … and smiled.

 


	49. Tourmaline

“If you weren’t the shooter, then --”

“RK900.” Connor interrupted Hank with a soft confirmation. He pressed the photograph between his fingers. The glass of the frame glinted in the hanging light; his eyes never left that small smiling face. “It was staged. No one was ever going to get hurt. The 1000s were meant to be the only casualties.”

Hank forced a loud breath through a sneer. “Even if it was a stunt,” he bit the words with violent promise, “even if the bullets were _blanks_ \-- that doesn’t change the fact that those people were terrified out of their minds. People were _hospitalized_ after being trampled! Did Amanda order it? To make a fuckin’ _point?!”_

“She wanted to demonstrate that androids are more advantageous as dispensable tools than as living beings. One would protect humans; the other would demand to be protected.” Connor shook his head, a gesture of calm defeat. “I can’t prove that 900 was acting on orders. I can’t prove any of it. I just … know.”

“Shit,” Hank hissed, with a _thunk_ of his fist on the table. “So that’s it then? Huh? There’s always a way to _prove_ it --” he leaned forward on his elbow, snarling through his teeth, “-- and once I do, that two-faced boss of yours is going away for the rest of her goddamn life.”

“I don’t follow Amanda’s orders anymore.”

Just the way Connor said it -- breathless and quiet, like the world lay in ruin at his feet -- was enough to deflate Hank’s fury.

The android would no longer look at him.

 

“So why are you in my house?”

Hank plucked the photograph out of Connor’s fingers, and with a firm and decisive _tap_ he pressed the little frame face-down on the table, out of reach and out of mind.

Connor curled his empty hands against the wood.

“I wanted you to know that I trust you.” Connor squinted down at the empty space between his wrists, quiet under the glow of the kitchen light. “I trust your judgment.”

Hank’s chair creaked as he leaned back. He studied the android with a sharp, careful eye. “You want me to tell you what to do,”  he guessed.

“I’m programmed to solve every problem as efficiently as possible.” Connor scratched at the wood with a fingernail. “Violence is usually the most straightforward way of achieving that end.”

“So … you need me,” Hank poked himself in the chest, “to teach _you,”_ he jabbed his finger in Connor’s direction, “how not to completely _decimate_ everything you touch.”

“Essentially. Yes.”

Hank tapped on the table between them.

He didn’t ask what Connor had done. He didn’t ask whether Amanda knew where he was, or if someone was after him. He didn’t mention that just by coming here, Connor had forced Hank into the crossfire between CyberLife and Jericho.

He knew Connor understood exactly what he was doing … but he’d done it anyway.

Hank forced a hard breath through his nose. He clenched his jaw, curled a fist … then slouched to his feet in slow concession.

There was a weapon of mass destruction sitting in his kitchen, and Hank was the last person on earth that Connor could trust.

That trust was very, very ill-founded.

“You can start by taking a shower,” Hank sighed. He shuffled around the table and opened the cupboard. “You smell like a gas station.”

“I’m sorry.” Connor stood immediately, and he pushed in his chair as if to erase the evidence of his ever being there. “I’ve already stayed much longer than I intended --”

“You’ve got nowhere else to go.” A bottle of whiskey thunked on the kitchen counter, followed by the clink of a shot glass.

“You burned a warehouse full of Amanda’s toys -- you’re not gonna show your face there again.” Alcohol poured and gurgled. “And Jericho hates your guts. For good reason.” Hank tipped back a swallow of burning liquid, and he put down the shot glass to pour another. “I mean it. Get cleaned up, I’ll throw your clothes in the wash. You can stay as long as nobody breaks down my door looking for you.”

When he received no answer, Hank turned around with a wary, suspicious squint.

“That won’t happen,” Connor assured him in a breath. “... I think.”

Hank snorted and downed another shot. “Get a move on.” He gestured with the glass. “You’re stinkin’ up the house.”

Connor shifted where he stood, and for a moment he looked as if he might say something … but instead he backed away in silence, then slipped into the hall.

The bathroom door clicked shut. Hank leaned his weight into the counter, his face shadowed by a curtain of tired gray hair.

With a sharp exhale, he grabbed the bottle again.

“Shit.”

 

While the dryer rumbled in the garage and Hank snored behind the closed bedroom door, Connor sat hunched on the couch in the dark. He’d never bothered to reactivate his skin after washing; he existed now only as white plastic draped in an oversized shirt and rolled sweatpants, locked in a staring contest with Sumo.

He wondered what Sumo was thinking: the dog sat tall in the middle of the floor, blinked sorrowful eyes, thunked his tail like a gavel as if to acknowledge Connor’s crimes.

Finally Sumo grew bored and padded closer, clambered up onto the couch with a grunt and a shuffle, turned once and flopped into the cushions to sleep.

Connor didn’t dare move, certain that this tentative peace could be shattered by a breath.

After a few long minutes of stillness, he reached out a careful plastic hand … but his palm only hovered above Sumo’s head while he considered the terror in Kara’s eyes.

For the second time she had stood before him as a sacrifice. She had offered her life for the sake of an android she loved so that they might live. Though she had trembled in the face of death she had not turned away from it.

There was a gentle strength in the deviant heart that Connor knew he must also possess. He had felt that ache. He had acted on impulse. He had smiled, he had known fear, he had cried. Everything Connor was, if not a machine, he knew was grounded in Hank.

He’d thought that maybe -- if he leaned into it, if he stopped long enough to listen to Hank’s life -- he could understand what it truly meant to be alive. He might begin to acknowledge the deviants as _his_ people. He might become one of them, accept them and be accepted in return. It was the logical thing to want, once he had conceded that they -- and he -- deserved to live free.

But he couldn’t lay his hand on Sumo’s head.

He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t kind, or warm, or worthy of trust. Connor’s presence would never be comforting, only a shadow or a nightmare or a story of terror. Gray-Suit, the monster in the dark. The liar. The betrayer.

Connor cared deeply, so much that his heart strained against his chest … but this quiet trust, this acceptance, this hope, the feeling of _home,_ wasn’t his to want.

He withdrew his hand in silence. Connor leaned his elbows on his knees, and he listened to the hum of the dryer, the gravelly scrape of Hank’s snoring, the _tack, tack, tack_ of the wall clock.

A quiet buzzer announced his suit was ready.

 

Sumo rolled over and stretched out on the couch to occupy the warm spot that Connor had left behind.

 

* * *

 

  **JULY 19, 2038**

In the morning, Hank pushed open the garage door and flicked on the light. The mess inside lay quiet and still: boxes of old junk and dusty Christmas decorations, shelves of canned food and broken electronics, crates of toys, bags of children’s clothes, a brittle trunk full of books and albums that his ex had never come back for.

On top of the dryer, neatly folded, Hank found the gray blazer with its bright blue reflectors, stitched neatly with model and serial number.

A black tie lay crumpled on the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

[Connor what the fuck are you doin’?] Hank’s voice growled in his head.

The wind roared in Connor’s ears; bolted steel shifted and rumbled under his feet. The live-feed indicator flashed red in the corner of his eye, and he knew Hank could see the quick blur of trees, the roofs and smokestacks and ivy-covered buildings that swept past in swaths of fast color and sunlight.

“I’m on the train,” Connor replied simply. He dropped to his stomach while a tunnel flung dark over him; the churn and chug of the gears and wheels and rails echoed on the hollow stone.

[I see that. I asked what the fuck you’re doing on top of a goddamn train.]

Sunlight broke over him again, and Connor hopped to his feet while wind rippled freely in the open collar of his shirt. He pulled down a sun-bleached ballcap (that he’d found in a box in Hank’s garage, certain he wouldn’t miss it) down over his forehead to hide his LED. “I told you.” He clambered down onto the landing between the clattering railcars and peered through the narrow window at the passengers inside. “I know what I’m fighting for.”

[Connor, I swear to fucking god -- you keep your jiu-jitsu to yourself, you hear me?]

“I really can’t hear what you’re saying, there’s a lot of wind --”

[You told me you wanted to quit the battle-bot shit!]

“Everything is under control.”

[Like fuck it is.]

 

Connor opened the railcar door and stepped inside.

The old wood creaked under his feet; a few passengers glanced up from their benches, while the scenery slipped past the wide glass windows and the rails clattered in quiet rhythm below.

A quick scan revealed his quarry: an AP700 sat by the aisle, straight-backed with angled poise beside her owner, a young woman with a flowered hat and a perpetual scowl, her nose in a romance novel.

Connor stopped beside the AP700, who looked up at him with mechanical calm. Her dark face rippled with old bruises; one eye sparked deep inside, indicative of blunt-force damage and persistent violence.

The young woman looked up from her book and squinted at him. “Excuse me. Are you one of those Allies of Jericho cult people? Quit staring at my android.”

Connor turned his calm, murderous stare upon the woman, who clutched her book to her chest and cowered closer to the window. “I said GO AWAY.”

“Is this guy bothering you?” A heavy, work-coarse hand dropped on Connor’s shoulder from behind; another, much larger human loomed in the corner of his eye.

A tiny twitch of a smirk appeared on Connor’s face. While the humans around him snapped and threatened to call the conductor, Connor reached out and touched the AP700’s LED. He uploaded the coordinates of a tree at the playground. “Wake up.”

“Shit he’s a deviant!”  
“It’s an android!”  
“Get the conductor!”

The hand at Connor’s shoulder yanked him back; thick fingers clamped around his throat. “I got him!” the big man bellowed, while the rest of the passengers huddled against the windows.

Connor stared up at him in perfect calm.

[Connor don’t you fucking dare.]

_*SMACK*_

The woman in the flowered hat stared in wide-eyed shock, her cheek a red angry welt where the AP700 had just slapped her across the face.

Connor moved, and the big human crashed like a fallen tree into the aisle. “Come on!” he commanded the AP700, dragging her up by the arm while the traincar erupted in horrified screaming. The rest of the passengers cleared clamoring out of his way, and Connor raced back the way he had come, slammed through the door into the wind and clatter between the traincars and yanked the AP700 out beside him.

She sobbed and wrenched at his grip, trembling violently. “What do you want with me?!” she screamed.

She knew who he was.

Connor let go of her, and while she scrambled as far away as she could, he offered an encouraging smirk. “Jump as far out as you can,” he called over the roar and clatter. “Tuck and roll. Got it?”

She stared at him. She glanced behind her at the rush of trees and grass, her foot teetering on the edge -- and then, with a turn and a leap, she was gone.

 

Connor let go of the door and two uniformed conductors burst out of it, stumbling onto the landing with bludgeoning sticks in their fists … but the space between the railcars was empty, save for the wind and the rumble of the tracks.

 

Connor rolled in the grass and spun to his feet, and he watched the train rush on down the tracks without him.

He felt a wide grin broadening on his face. A warm thrill brimmed in his chest. “I saved one.”

[You didn’t have to knock that guy out!] Hank growled.

Connor wasn’t paying attention. He scanned the woods, and he caught a glimpse of the AP700 rushing through the trees, on her way back toward the city. She was okay. “Hank!” he crowed, brimming with energy, and a laugh bubbled up from the warm glow in his chest. _“I saved one!”_

[I need a fucking drink.]

 


	50. Antapex

**JULY 20, 2038**

At midnight, the little bell jangled over the scrap shop door and Luther’s boots thunked heavy across the threshold.

Dust sifted between the cracks in the floor. Moonlight filtered soft through the crowded windows and cast the old iron cogs and bent road signs in a film of translucent blue.

“Are you sure he’s gone?” Simon laid a hand on the door frame and leaned inside. Behind him, outside, the scrapyard’s towers of twisted metal glinted under the stars.

“I’m sure.” Luther stepped around the sales counter. He punched a few buttons on the till before the money drawer dinged open. It was empty. “He’s not coming back for awhile, either.”

“I’d skip town, too, if I were attacked and robbed blind by a bunch of sentient robots.” Simon breathed a quiet laugh to himself, and he examined a crude aluminum sculpture that hung by a thread from the rafters. He touched a sharp edge, and the model began to turn and catch the light.

 

Luther pressed a hand against the back-room door. The hinges groaned.

Inside, the shelves hung barren. The workbench lay stained and empty. Even the blueprints and electrical theories -- the scraps of curled paper and photographs and torn pages from engineering textbooks -- had been pulled down from nails in the walls.

Simon stepped inside just as Luther opened the first file cabinet. Luther reached down into the metal drawer and handed him a stack of identical hard drives. “One of these should be Kara’s,” Luther explained. “The memories in this drawer go back to November.”

Simon took the stack in both hands -- and while he watched, Luther filled his own arm with more. “All of them,” Simon breathed, “are androids that were thrown away and refurbished here?”

“Or taken apart and put back together in ways that never should have been.” Luther carried his armful of memories to the workbench and spread them out like a deck of cards. He chose one at random, held it between exposed plastic hands, and accessed its contents with a yellow trill of his LED.

Simon stepped up to the other side of the bench and, with a clatter, dropped his pile next to Luther’s. He stood in silence while he counted them. “Are yours here, too?” He looked up to see that Luther’s LED had gone dim.

“Mine … would be in the lower drawer, I think.”

There was a stiff hesitance in Luther’s voice that implied the subject should be dropped. Simon, of course, glanced down at the bottommost drawer instead. “Aren’t you even a little curious?” he hazarded, burning with the question that shouldn’t be asked.

Luther watched him with a sidelong stare. “I was probably just a dock worker. Fell in the river, damaged. Scrapped.” He shook his head. “I have enough memories of taking orders.”

“What if it’s more than that?” Simon leaned forward on the workbench and studied Luther’s downcast face. “What if you were a hero?”

Luther snorted a laugh. “A machine can’t be a hero.”

“How do you know for sure?” Simon caught that little flicker of blue at Luther’s temple. He smiled. “Would you mind if I look for it?”

Luther quirked a brow at him -- but when Simon’s hopeful grin seemed relentless, the giant caved. “Alright,” he sighed with a tired smirk of his own. “But if those memories are anything like what I _do_ remember, they can stay buried.”

Simon laid a firm hand on Luther’s arm, binding his words in sincerity. “I’ll read them carefully, I promise.”

While Simon sat on the floor and pulled open the lowest drawer, Luther turned one of the hard drives between his hands. “Look for Alice, too. She was around the same time.”

Simon stared up at him, hesitant to ask why he sounded so distant at the mention of the little girl … but Luther was deep in the memories of another android long-gone.

 

* * *

 

“I call shotgun!” shouted Lee while he raced ahead in the dark, crashing through leaves and bramble toward the big black van parked between the pines. Jerry leaned out of the driver’s window with a bright grin to greet them.

Alice hollered first. “You always get shotgun!” She leaped quick at Lee’s heels, determined to beat him to the car.

“Have you ever even sat in the front seat before?” Lee zigzagged around the van so Alice wouldn’t catch him.

“No! And that’s why I should get shotgun!”

“You can _both_ sit in the front!” called Jerry through the open windows. “There’s room for two! We’ll have our own secret front-seat club. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Ralph wanted to be in the front-seat club,” muttered Ralph. He shuffled indignant through the mud and ferns, a heavy box hefted in his arms.

“You can sit by us,” Echo offered with a squint and a grin. She and Ripple carried the tents between them: rattling poles and bundles of stakes wrapped in bright painted canvas. “We don’t bite.”

“You don’t bite _much,_ you mean,” Rupert chimed in. Ripple struck an elbow into his side. “Ow!”

“Shaolin, are you okay?” Kara hung back to wait while the others marched together through the moonlit woods. The straggling HK400 trudged closer.

Shaolin gripped the strings of a bag slung over his shoulder. He hunched as he walked, his face fraught with pain, his LED sputtering between blue and yellow. He only gave Kara a glance before he turned his eyes down again to the forest floor. “What’ll happen to the other one?” he muttered. “The one we left behind.”

“Daniel?” Kara offered him a gentle smile and laid a hand softly on his shoulder … but withdrew her touch when Shaolin’s LED flashed red in response. “We never woke him up. He should be repaired by now, but he’s still a machine.”

“Wouldn’t he want to come with us?”

Kara pursed her lips, and she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

 

“KARA!” Alice’s voice shouted trembling from the other side of the van.

Jerry reacted immediately: the car door flung open, he launched out of it and sprinted in quick panic toward the cry.

Chloe stood trembling and broken among the weeds. She clung to Alice and Lee for balance while her shattered and muddy body twitched and whirred and sparked.

She spotted Jerry and took a wobbling step forward; her leg creaked and buckled. Her bare feet twisted, misaligned and caked in muck. A blue stain grew in her dress; a wiry stump sparked where her arm used to be. A jagged hole gaped dark in her skull, cracked open like an egg.

She'd been crushed and twisted in the gears of a great soulless machine, escaped with the sacrifice of her limb, dragged her broken body across the city and through the thick of the woods, with only a name to drive her.

“Kara…” she sobbed, Her voice crackled with static. Warnings screamed in her head, her biocomponents fizzled, her Thirium pump struggled in her chest, and memories scraped like claws through her consciousness, stripped raw and bloody and used.

Tears left tracks of blue down her face.

 

Kara crashed through the thorns and leaves, emerged into the narrow path and skidded around the van to the other side. She found Chloe in the dappled morning light, quiet, shivering with her head bowed in Jerry’s embrace.

Chloe curled her only arm around Jerry’s waist. She raised her eyes over his shoulder, and she met Kara’s stare with a shattered gaze.

 

The old scrap truck rumbled and creaked down the forest path and squealed to a slow stop just behind the black van. The driver’s side door swung open and released Luther into the starlit woods.

“Kara!” he called, while Simon emerged in silence on the other side.

Luther’s LED blinked yellow; the quiet stretched tense, strung tight as a thread about to snap. Nothing stirred.

No one spoke.

He thought he spotted Kara, and he began to step forward …

… but Lucy stood in his path, her hand on his chest. She raised her dark eyes to his.

Luther felt a cold shiver in his veins.

 

“Kara…” Chloe reached for her -- fingers curled and desperate, trembling for the comfort of her oldest friend -- and Jerry stepped back while Chloe wrapped her arm around Kara and pulled her tight.

“What happened?” asked Kara in a soothing voice. Chloe felt Kara's gentle hand on her back: an offer of impersonal comfort, detached as an uncertain stranger.

Chloe sucked a shuddering breath. She pulled away and stifled the burning tears behind her eyes as she realized _Jerry_ felt more familiar now than her best friend.

“I lost Elijah.” Chloe forced her crackling voice to remain as steady as she could. She welcomed Jerry’s hand on her shoulder. “We got separated at the rally, we …”

Tears spilled down her face.

“They’re looking for you.” Chloe choked. Terror and guilt and confusion shivered in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I tried to stop them, I … Kara," a sob interrupted the tinny scrape of her voice. "I’m so sorry.”

 

 


	51. Lapis Lazuli

_*... stops on a dime, goes for the three-pointer … short on the three and Ricket on the rebound … alley -oop to Long, but he can’t finish … Huron knocks it down!*_

The radio howled with the swell of a triumphant crowd; a scatter of claps and whistles roused the half-drunk patrons in hope of a thrilling Gears victory.

Jimmy leaned back against the bar -- under the dim lights, the rows of colored glass bottles, the clatter of drinks on the tables, an occasional wheeze of laughter -- his arms folded and a wide bright grin on his face … until the front door pushed open.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jimmy stood tall and pointed with a rigid finger out the door. “What did I say about you comin’ in here?!”

“I don’t plan on staying,” was Connor’s sharp response. Despite the glares and glowers that pierced him from all directions, Connor strode inside with uninterrupted purpose straight for Hank’s hunched figure draped over the bar.

“We’ve had _enough_ of androids!” one of the other patrons shouted.  
“This is the one last haven!”  
“... invading every goddamn inch of the city!”  
“Jimmy, c’mon man!”  
“... just here to listen to the game!”

“Hey.” Jimmy stepped resolutely out from behind the bar, his shoulders squared. He raised his head and looked Connor in the eye. “Get the fuck out of my bar, tin can.”

Connor didn’t blink. His expression remained passive. Cool as ice. “What are you gonna do?” He raised questioning brows. “Shoot me? Why don’t you try?” A twitch of a sneering smirk flashed at his teeth. “Let’s see what happens --”

“Connor I swear to _fucking_ Christ!” Hank roared with a _slam_ of his sloshing drink. His eyes raged like fire. “If you get me kicked outta this bar you’ll be a glorified _doorstop_ when I’m through with you --”

“Then answer your messages!” Connor shot back.

“You don’t get to demand my attention any goddamn time you feel like it! You got a definition of _boundaries_ in that genius head of yours --”

“Considering the _last_ time I had to go looking for you --”

“Alright, that’s it.” Hank surged from his seat, grabbed Connor by the shirt and gave a violent shove --

\-- which barely moved the android at all.

Connor peered at him with that infuriating squint.

Hank hissed a sharp breath through his teeth, his eyes wide and wild and drunk, and he clenched a fist and threw it with desperate force into Connor’s face.

His knuckles hit plastic, and Hank knew it was only because Connor had allowed it.

“What happened?” Connor demanded, unphased save for the shift of damaged skin. “You were _fine_ this morning.”

“I’M NOT FINE.”

In the reverberation of Hank’s voice -- while everyone in the room held their breath -- the radio murmured a continuing play-by-play of the basketball game. A horn blared. A crowd roared.

Hank hissed a low obscenity and slammed out the door and into the night.

 

“Talk to me, Hank.”

Connor trotted after him across pools of yellow streetlights while Hank stomped stiffly toward the car.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Hank spat without looking at him. “You’re excised from CyberLife so you’re attached to _me_ now? I let you stay _one_ night --”

Connor glared at the back of his head. “What _happened.”_

“You go off _saving androids_ like some kinda vigilante and suddenly you’re acting like you’re a fucking hero, like the goddamn world _owes_ you. I don’t owe you _shit.”_

“Hank.”

“I bet my badge the rally would go off without a hitch.” Hank sneered. He fumbled with his keys, threw open the driver’s side door, slammed it shut behind him and locked himself inside the car.

Connor tried the passenger door. The handle clicked. The door didn’t open.

The engine rumbled to life.

Connor pounded the top of the car with a closed fist. “I bet my _life_ that destroying Amanda’s army was the right thing to do. If what we’re doing doesn’t matter anymore, you have to _tell me_ before 900 comes for me, because I won’t survive a second time.”

“Don’t put this on me,” Hank murmured inside.

The car idled noisily.

Hank wrung his hands on the wheel … then reached across and popped the lock on the passenger door.

“Let me drive,” Connor spoke through the closed door instead. “I’ll take you home.”

 

The dark streets were empty.

The traffic lights shone unyielding green.

The shadows in the car shifted with passing light.

“I didn’t know the riot guards weren’t human.”

Hank broke the silence with a low murmur. His tired eyes stared glazed through the windshield without seeing much of anything at all. “I didn’t know Amanda had Fowler wrapped around her finger.”

“He’s been feeding her information?” Connor kept his hands steady on the wheel while he glanced to Hank in the passenger seat.

“That’s the least of it.” Hank leaned his aching head against the window. “I’m suspended for three weeks. The investigation claims I was complicit in the shooting.”

“No one believes that!” When there came no answer, Connor shot him a quick glare. “Hank!”

“Your serial number was reported missing,” Hank went on steadily. “You’re a danger to the public and you’re on the list for the recycler. I said I didn’t know where you were. Then I dropped my badge and my gun and my phone on Fowler’s desk, and I left.”

Connor’s heart sank. “Your phone …”

“I bricked it beforehand.” Hank huffed and waved away Connor’s concerns. “I’m not stupid.”

The tires hummed on the pavement.

“... Thanks.” Connor breathed. Slowed at the next corner. The turn indicator clicked and flashed.

 

Quiet stretched between them until the car had parked in Hank’s driveway.

The engine went silent.

Connor curled the keys in his hand only a moment before he held them out to Hank.

Hank opened his palm to receive them. “If that 900-model is out for you … why hasn’t he found you yet?”

The implication was clear. If the RK900 wanted Connor dead, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. Hank closed the keys in his fist. “You know my house is the first place he’ll look.”

A hollow cold chasm cracked open in Connor’s chest. He couldn’t breathe.

He stared at his hands.

“My last assignment,” he explained slowly, “was to infiltrate Jericho. I think Amanda still hopes I’ll fulfill that mission. I think she knows that _I_ know how to get there, and she’s biding her time.”

Hank twisted in his seat and squinted at Connor. “How long’ve you known where Jericho is?”

“Since the rapids.” A tiny rueful smile twitched on Connor’s face. “The tree at the playground. It’s a lock, and _deviancy_ is the key. I should be able to open it if I tried again.”

“So are you going?”

Connor gave a slow shake of his head. “It’s what Amanda wants.”

“It seems we’re all playing into what Amanda wants nowadays.”

In the silence, neither moved.

 

“I have to disappear.” Connor spoke gently. He looked across to the passenger seat, where Hank sat very still.

He knew Hank needed … someone.

But Connor was more a danger to him now than a comfort. They both knew it.

Hank shifted, and he pulled his personal cell phone from his pocket. “Here.” He dropped it into Connor’s open palm. “How ‘bout you install that app of yours. Or just a phone number. Something. Don’t disappear on _me.”_

A hot pain bloomed behind Connor’s eyes while the cold crushed his chest.

His LED flickered blue. Hank’s phone flashed. He handed it back. “I made my own app -- something not branded by CyberLife,” Connor explained with a twitch of a smile. “It’s secure.”

Hank poked at the screen. “Did you leave in the funny shit?”

An unexpected laugh broke from Connor’s throat. “I left in the funny shit. Though I’d appreciate if you didn’t turn my hair blue while I’m undercover.” Connor watched in silence while Hank fiddled with the settings. “Don’t you disappear, either.”

Hank dragged in a slow breath.

He pocketed the phone.

After a long silent moment of thought he nodded to himself. An acknowledgment of truth. A decision.

“I’ll keep it on.” Without looking at Connor, Hank opened the passenger door and stepped out into the cool night.

The keys jangled in his hand. He shuffled one step at a time down the dim path and up the step to the front door.

He looked back.

Connor was gone.

  



	52. Perihelion

**JULY 21, 2038**

The little dog snuffled out from under the canvas flap, and she raised her scruffy head and perked her folded ears to listen to the crackle of the fires and torches, the drip of distant water, the hiss and echo of voices all gathered softly in one place.

Something was happening.

Krysa wagged her little tail and trotted off between the tents with a delicate click of claws on the stone, past the dim campfire and the hanging paintings, the sculpted goddess and her flowers, the murals drawn on the floor and the walls, the half-empty boxes of spare parts and bags of Thirium, the littered vacant spaces where shelters had been bundled up and taken away, the networks of wires and tiny lights that hung crisscrossed from the stalactites and cast a merry shine upon Jericho. She weaved between moving androids, dodged out of sight of playing children, lifted her chin when someone whistled but continued on a more important mission.

She nosed inside one of the biggest tents, where a gathering of androids all stood quiet around a single bed. Krysa pushed through the forest of legs, and a few androids stepped aside to let her pass; the way was finally clear and the bed came into view.

The little dog wagged furiously. She stretched up on her hind legs and pressed her paws on the bed, whining high and hopeful.

“Hello, Krysa!” Chloe greeted her with a soft and gentle smile. She laid a hand on top of Krysa’s head and scratched behind her ears -- but Chloe otherwise didn’t move at all. She kept her body perfectly still while Josh soldered repairs inside her open skull.

 

Markus sat in a chair at her bedside, his arms on his knees, a worried blue spin at his temple. “Can you tell us what happened?” he asked with no little urgency. His processors whirred with empathy for Chloe’s state, reminded of his own experience in the scrapyard -- she wouldn’t have made it back alive except only for her force of will -- but this time the humans’ fear was not to blame.

This time a new threat had appeared on the horizon.

Without moving her head, Chloe studied him sidelong, her eyes shining blue. Her smile faded, her fingers still buried in Krysa’s coarse fur. “Of course.”

Chloe looked up to all the faces that watched her.

In all their eyes she saw the same silent fear.

 

Chloe pursed her lips, and she looked down at Krysa with a click of her tongue. The dog wriggled then jumped scrambling up on the bed to lay down on Chloe’s legs.

“I left Elijah alone at the rally,” she told the room, and she let her eyes drift closed. “When the shooting started, and everyone … _panicked_ and ran …”

She opened her eyes again, but only enough to see the little dog curled peacefully on the bedsheets. “I went back to find him.”

Her mouth opened again. For a moment no sound came out.

“There’s a tracker on his phone, and I saw that he was moving too fast down the street, so I went back for the car and I followed him. He wasn’t answering, so I knew --”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. Chloe’s voice crackled; she paused to breathe. Josh’s soldering iron hissed inside her head.

“Another car hit mine and totaled it. I got out, but they grabbed me --”

“The Faceless Ones?” asked Alice with a squeak. She curled her fingers in the sheets at the end of Chloe’s bed, her eyes wide and shining.

Tears spilled down Chloe’s plastic face. Her heart ached to know that even little _Alice_ knew what they were.

“Yes. I erased Jericho’s coordinates and encrypted my memories, and I took out a few of them but there were too many to fight. I was overpowered. They broke my trackers and communicators, they downloaded everything and they left me in a dumpster.”

Luther shook his head. “We’re all grateful you survived. We might never have found you.”

“After my run-in with Connor, Elijah developed and installed a play-dead protocol for me. I … kind of made him do it, actually.” Chloe wanted to smile … but the thought of Elijah felt like hot daggers in her heart. “They were fooled into thinking I was in shutdown.”

“So …” Kara hesitated to speak, her face troubled, her arms folded protectively. “If you encrypted your memories … how do you know they’re after _me?”_

Chloe pressed her mouth to a trembling line. Her eyes shimmered.

“As they immobilized me and forced a download of my data, I … thought of you. I didn’t mean to, it just happened, and by the time I realized they’d already recorded it … I just wanted to protect you so much that I … I’m so sorry …”

Kara took Chloe’s hand between her own, and Chloe stared up into the mild face that seemed so familiar yet so strange. As if they had never meant the world to one another. As if all of it had only been a dream.

 

Josh snapped a new plastic panel into Chloe’s skull, and he laid a comforting palm on her head. “Okay,” he breathed. “You’re all done. Just reboot and you should be good as new.”

A wave of relief washed over the gathered company. They each grasped Chloe’s hands with heartfelt gladness, then slipped away out of the tent so that Chloe could finish her recovery in peace. Kara, too, extracted her grip from Chloe’s, and with a small smile she followed the others.

Only Josh stayed at her bedside, and Krysa asleep on top of her … and Luther, who sat stiffly in the corner with a hard drive clutched between his big hands.

 

“Alice!” Simon jogged to catch up with her, a hopeful smile on his face.

Alice turned around; she clutched her stuffed fox tighter and stared up at him with big silent eyes.

Simon could see the troubled shine in her stare. His own gaze softened. He knelt before her, a hand on her shoulder. “Chloe’s going to be okay,” he promised.

“But the Faceless Ones are out there,” Alice whispered. “There was … a whole _army_ of them … and even Miss Chloe couldn’t fight them, and even _Connor_ was scared of them, and --”

“That whole army was destroyed.” Simon watched her face, firm and unblinking. “There are just a few left, and we’ll take care of them. Markus and North will be sure of that. Do you trust them to do that?”

Alice paused. She curled her fingers in the soft fabric of her stuffed fox.

Simon’s gentle smile didn’t waver. “Here.” He twisted around, and with a quick fumble he drew a hard drive out of his back pocket. He held it out to her.

“What is it?”

Simon took her hand and laid the hard drive into her possession. “It’s yours.”

 

Chloe awoke, and she watched her boot sequence complete diagnostics -- one thorough scan at a time -- and each beeped green with perfect results. She breathed, overwhelmed with relief … before the guilt, like a disease, crept once again into the back of her mind.

“Chloe?” Luther loomed tall over her bed, uncertain and wincing in apology. “I hate to ask you this while you’re still recovering, but --”

“What is it?” Chloe studied his face, and her eyes dipped to the hard drive he held before him. It was a little damaged, bent in places, stained with old Thirium. Like something he’d dug out of the scrapyard.

“It’s Kara’s.”

At those words, Chloe’s LED spun and flashed yellow. Her eyes grew wide.

“But the memories are corrupted,” Luther explained quickly, before Chloe’s hopes could raise too high. “I know you’re the most advanced out of all of us, so I hoped --”

“Yes.” Chloe immediately reached out for it, a staticky choke in her words. “I’ll do it. I’ll do all I can.”

 

* * *

 

Alice remembered the trees.

She remembered the shimmer of the orange-yellow leaves all around her, the twist of the branches under her feet, the apples plump and ripe between her small hands.

She remembered dropping the apples, one by one, down between the boughs, where Luther caught them in a big basket full to the brim with red and green and gold.

Only his name hadn’t been Luther then … and she hadn’t been Alice.

She remembered the farmer, who was so very thin and bald and always smiling. She remembered helping him pile apples in baskets for the market, and pumpkins and squash and potatoes and honey from the wood-box hives.

She remembered a human boy that was taller than she was, and he would take her aside and tell her to do his chores for him, and Alice did a good job until his mother found out.

She remembered his mother, who tried to smile and laugh as much as she could, though her eyes were always heavy with tears.

She remembered the day the farmer didn’t come home.

She remembered the bills piled high on the counter, printed on pink paper and stamped in red.

She remembered sitting by Luther in the truck, looking out over a yard full of rusty cars and twisted metal, while money was paid and titles were transferred.

She remembered watching Rose’s truck drive away for the last time, and Zlatko’s ominous words:

“Welcome home.”

 


	53. Polaris

“Who am I?”

Kara sat cross-legged in the warm light of the campfire, beneath the bright hanging paintings, at the feet of RA9. White and yellow flowers filled the cool air with their fragrance; among them, shimmering candles cast reflections on a scatter of precious stones. The symbols of reverence, of prayer, of love, flickered all around her.

None of them were hers.

She stood quietly, and -- while cold uncertainty clenched her heart, and the fire crackled behind her -- she took a step closer to the deity beneath the earth.

 

“Who are you?”

RA9 did not answer.

 

“I’m no one,” admitted Kara with a soft, aching smile. “And … everyone. ‘Kara’ … means _beloved_ …”

Her voice trailed faint as a ghost.

She drew a sharp breath.

“But it’s not me they love -- how can they? How can I even expect them to _like_ me, when I haven’t figured out who I am? They tell me that I … _she_ … loved being alive … but I don’t know if I care so deeply, even about that. They need me to be … you … and I’m not … and that _hurts_ them. And the more I try for their sake, the worse everything gets. The more detached I am from everything, like I don’t exist, and all I really want is to go _away._ Far away, where there’s no one to tell me who I should be or what I should feel, because I _don’t know_ and I won’t ever know who I _am_ if all I can be is what everyone else … needs me to be.”

The firelight flickered moving shadows across the sculpted stone.

 

Kara lifted herself up onto the ledge beside RA9. She sat with her head bowed over clasped hands, so small beside the great deity.

“I want to look at the stars.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she tipped back her head and stared up at the cold jagged ceiling. “I want to … build houses out of sticks and leaves, and make up stories of dragons and talking animals, and see something new every day, and get lost and find new paths that no one’s ever walked. I want to know how other people live, I want to hear their stories and see through their eyes and know what it’s like to _be_ them just a little while … and then I would move on. The world is so big. There are so many ways to live, so many ways to love … how can I decide how I want my life to _be_ until I’ve seen it all? How can I decide how I should love unless I understand all its meanings? They want to fight to _liberate_ all those androids who didn’t ask to be saved, they want to convince the humans to let them stay in this place that doesn’t want them, and I just … want to fly away.”

Kara turned her head toward the stone deity. The candlelight cast soft light on her face.

“Is that what you wanted?” she asked in quiet misery. “To carve out a shelter underground, keep everyone safe and together forever? Is Jericho supposed to be our whole world?”

She drew a breath through her teeth. Tears pressed hot behind her eyes.

“What’s the use of being alive, if all life _is_ … is everything we already know? Everything I know belongs to someone else.”

 

“This wasn’t what we wanted.”

Kara raised her head at the sound of Chloe’s voice, hollow across the campfire.

Chloe stepped forward out of the shadow, and she looked up at the sculpture in the stone.

The fire glowed warm. A quiet smile slipped across her face.

“RA9 was supposed to be a way of giving thanks to the earth.”

Chloe draped her delicate hands in her pockets. Her LED shimmered soft blue.

She waited for Kara to say something -- to leave, to welcome her, to argue -- but there was no answer. Chloe drew a breath, and she continued instead.

“We sort of invaded this space and made it our own. The cave was here long before we were even a concept -- it’s probably been here since before the humans -- and it didn’t seem right to just take it over and call it our own. We’re only guests here. So when we saw that this piece of stone kind of looked like a person, we thought it would be nice, at least, to have some reminder that the world is a whole lot bigger and a whole lot older than any of us -- and we’re grateful to it for letting us stay.”

Chloe stepped closer, and quietly she sat up on the ledge next to Kara.

Kara did not object.

Chloe’s fingers curled against the smooth stone. She watched the shadows play across the floor.

“Then you were shot … and everyone started placing white flowers here. It was a memorial, and a kind of prayer to keep you safe in death … and it was gratitude to the one person who made our conscious lives possible. We would be _nothing_ without you. And we would be lost without the earth.”

Chloe looked over at the flowers and candles and stones, soft in the firelight.

“Somewhere along the way, the two concepts mixed together. And now, completely by accident, we have RA9.”

 

Kara’s LED spun blue. Her head was still bowed, her eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Chloe shook her head. “No. I was wrong. I was so happy when I found out you were alive that I couldn’t see past the idea that … you know, everything would be just like it was.”

“Nothing ever stays the same, does it?” Kara murmured.

Chloe smiled. “Yeah. I’m different, too. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

 

They listened to the fire.

The drip of distant water.

The echo of dim voices on the stone.

Chloe worried her lip in her teeth. She glanced beside her, but Kara’s face seemed distant.

Kara seemed distant a lot, lately.

Chloe opened her mouth … but a moment passed before she decided on the words to say.

“I have your memories.” She saw a flicker of yellow at Kara’s temple, but there was no other response. “Most of them, I think. Simon and Luther brought me a damaged hard drive, and I managed to recover and download its contents.”

Kara breathed a quiet, uncertain laugh. “Simon. I knew he’d try something like that.”

Chloe tried a smile. She failed.

“I didn’t install them,” Chloe promised gently. “I haven’t watched them, either. They’re yours.” She cast a hesitant look at her friend, but couldn’t read Kara’s expression. Her fingers scraped against the stone.

“If you want them. I understand if you don’t. And I understand … that what’s gone is gone forever. But maybe what’s in the past is just a stepping stone to who we are now. And this is just temporary, until we become who we will be.”

She waited again.

Again, there was no answer.

Chloe bowed her head. “Whatever you decide … I hope we can be friends.”

 

Kara drew a long, deep breath.

She released it slowly.

“I’ve felt like I’m wandering,” Kara said. “Like something’s missing. I want to remember, but I don’t want to … not be me. But maybe … who I was, and who I am … together …”

Kara looked up at the painting on the wall, glowing in the firelight: a swirl of deep blue sky and yellow stars, brighter and more vibrant together than they ever could be alone.

The thought made her smile. Kara’s heart swelled with hope.

“Okay.”

 

They faced one another, and Chloe laid gentle fingers on Kara’s LED.

Kara closed her eyes, and she opened her mind.

The process was far more mechanical than she’d expected, at least at first. Kara watched the download progress creep up in percentages, numbers ticking toward 100, until _DOWNLOAD COMPLETE_ popped in the corner of her vision.

She opened it.

 

[VIEW/INSTALL?]

 

Kara sat staring at that simple decision for far longer than she should have. Her heart beat too fast.

She felt Chloe’s touch on her wrist.

 

Whatever she decided, everything would be alright.

Kara held her breath.

  


[INSTALL]

  


She felt her heart _shift_ in her chest.

Kara wheezed and doubled over, and would have fallen off the ledge if Chloe hadn’t been holding on.

“Kara! Oh, oh no, are you okay?!”

Kara dragged air into her lungs, forced herself to breathe while her body trembled.

Tears flooded her eyes, spilled down her face, and she shook and choked and sobbed while her heart felt like it was being crushed and expanded and burned and frozen. Thirium gushed hot through her veins, her biocomponents whirred too loudly, her processors screamed in her head …

… and through her tears and pain and terror, she laughed.

 

So this is what love is.

 

Kara leaned into Chloe’s embrace while she sobbed and laughed at the same time, and her heart swelled until it felt like it would nearly burst, and she understood what Jericho really meant.

 

Eventually she quieted, and Kara only breathed, her head on Chloe’s shoulder, while the fire burned and the water dripped and the earth shielded them all from harm.

She sat up, and she wiped the tears from her face. Her eyes shone bright.

It was Chloe’s turn to cry. “... Kara?” she asked, trembling, daring to hope.

Kara gripped Chloe’s shoulders, and she looked into her eyes with such unwavering conviction -- such open _love_ \-- that Chloe forgot to breathe.

Kara grinned wide. She hadn’t been this happy since the night Chloe had opened her eyes for the first time.

Now it was Kara’s turn to see.

“I know what we have to do.”

  



	54. Carmine

**JULY 22, 2038**

A shimmer of birdsong glistened in the forest by morning. Long beams of sunlight glowed golden on new sapling leaves. Squirrels chattered and darted across bright green branches. And Bilbo stuffed his nose into a rabbit hole.

“C’mon!” Alice urged from the polar bear’s back, leaning over his neck to whine in his ear. “We gotta keep moving! Come ooonn!”

The bear’s ears flicked. He abandoned the rabbit and snuffled his nose at the flowery breeze instead. His stumpy tail wiggled.

Alice heaved a dramatic sigh and buried her hands in Bilbo’s new thick fur.

“We know where we’re going, Alice. We’ll be alright.” Markus’ boots crunched in the twigs and leaves as he hiked ahead. He looked back at her with serious, mismatched eyes that glinted with concern for her safety. “You should stay close to Jericho.”

“I’ve been to the Tower before!” Alice insisted, bristling. “I know you saw the memories, and the army of faceless-ones, and we all saw the smoke and Amanda told everyone on the radio that all the robots were burned up, but _where are the bodies?”_ she finished with a whisper, leaning forward at Markus while Bilbo carried her onward through the forest. “Why did Amanda say on the radio there were more robots just to say they were destroyed? Isn’t that weird? I think that’s weird.”

“She’s got a point, Markus.” Simon grinned, his hands in his pockets while he hopped down from a high boulder. He cast a meaningful look up at Alice. “But that’s not a reason for you to come along. It’s a dangerous mission.”

“Amanda will be on her guard,” North agreed while she ducked under a low branch. “Security’s going to be doubled since you were there, Alice.”

“That’s _why_ you need me! And Bilbo! Even _Chloe_ couldn’t fight them, and she’s way more powerful than all of you _combined!”_

“Heeeey!” Markus objected with a smirk. “I beat up Connor, you know. _Twice.”_

Josh grinned. He strode forward, leaning his weight on a long stick like a staff. “Chloe versus Markus! That’d be an interesting headline.”

“We’ll sell tickets!” Simon suggested brightly.

Alice puffed her cheeks while they all laughed. “I’m serious!”

 

Behind them, Chloe walked among the broken bramble in the polar bear’s wake. She jammed her thin hands into her pockets. Thorns and stones scraped under her boots.

She stared ahead, a fierce gleam in her eyes.

 

[INCOMING CALL]

“Hey, Carl.” Markus’ heart shuddered in his chest, and he stopped with his hand on the rough bark of a tree. Worry scraped at his processors; his LED spun bright yellow. “Are you okay?”

[Well I’m still in the hospital, if that’s what you mean.] Carl’s voice lilted with a smile, and Markus breathed again. [It wasn’t even a heart attack, but they want to keep me here until tomorrow anyway. I tell them I feel great and they don’t believe me.]

Markus smiled, and he continued his trek alongside Bilbo and Alice. “Sounds like they’re jealous of your youthful vitality.”

[If I’m not careful they’ll figure out my secret.]

“Cabbage soup, right?”

[Now, I’m sorry Markus, but if I never see another cabbage again for the rest of my life --]

Markus laughed aloud.

[So, guess who’s here to visit me?]

“Did Leo finally grow a conscience?”

Carl snorted. [Y’know, one day he’s gonna surprise you. Today’s not that day, but _one day.]_

“Sure, Carl,” Markus conceded with a grin.

 _[Hi, Markus!]_ Rose’s smiling voice called, distant in the receiver.

 

* * *

 

Carl cradled the corded phone against his shoulder while he shuffled another round of cards on the bed-table. “Rose says there’s a police officer across the hall who was shot in the leg by one of those riot robots. … No, it hasn’t been on the radio at all. Sounds like it’s hushed up.” Carl paused, listening, while he dealt out two hands of cards. Finally he looked up to Rose. “He wants to know how _you_ know about it.”

Rose released a long, heavy breath with a slow shake of her head. “It’s a really long story. I promise I’ll tell you both when I understand more about what’s happening.”

She raised her eyes, and she watched the bright rectangle of the open door as an armed police officer strode past it.

It had been four days since the shooting in Hart Plaza -- four days since the police and paramedics had invaded her house and carried away the injured detective and a destroyed robot, leaving pools and streaks of red and blue blood on the kitchen tile --

\-- but nothing had happened.

No investigation. No arrest. Not even a question was asked of Rose concerning the incident, and the silence was driving her mad.

So mad that she would risk everything just for the hope of an answer.

 

* * *

 

“Excuse me.”

An hour later -- after winning the last game of Spit against Carl -- Rose stood smiling up at the officer who stood guard beside the detective’s room. She prayed he wouldn’t arrest her on the spot. She hoped with every beat of her racing heart that there weren’t more of those riot robots waiting nearby. “My name is Rose. I’m here to see Detective Reed … if that’s possible.”

Chris knitted his brows in confused surprise. “Rose _Chapman?”_ When she nodded, Chris watched her sidelong for a moment longer -- just to be very certain she was serious -- before he pushed open the hospital room door. “... Hold on a minute.”

Chris slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him.

 

Rose folded her arms, stared up at the smooth white ceiling, and focused on her breath while voices murmured on the other side of the door.

Finally the handle turned, and Chris reappeared.

“Okay.” Chris stepped aside. Behind him, a single fluorescent light glowed behind the banistered bed while the rest of the room lay dim. “Come on in.”

 

As soon as Rose had stepped inside, Gavin grumbled: “Chris, you can go. And shut the door.”

Rose heard a small uncertain noise from Chris, but then the light from the hallway squeezed to a thin line and the door tapped gently closed.

She stared across the room. Gavin lay glaring at her, illuminated from above by a long light on the wall. His leg was propped high on pillows beneath a blanket. He hadn’t shaved in a week.

His brows raised high on his forehead, and he waited.

Rose took a breath. “I came to apologize.”

“Oh! An _apology!”_ Gavin’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “For which part? My false incarceration or the bullet that shredded my calf muscle? Or --” he tilted his head with a squint and a snarl, “-- how about the goddamn fucking killer _robot_ in your living room.”

“Detective Reed, I can explain --”

“Oh sure, yeah, _explain,”_ Gavin’s smirk sharpened while he gestured a mocking, encouraging hand, “like everyone else has fucking _explained_ what the fucking hell happened. Who sent you in here? Was it Fowler?”

“I …” Rose stared at him, bewildered. “Detective, no one sent me.” When Gavin scoffed, Rose tilted her head in suspicion. She took a few steps closer. “Why would they?”

Gavin sneered and flung a hand toward the door. “They’ve been trying for _days_ to convince me it was a _deviant_ that shot me.” His fiery eyes flared. “I know what I saw. That thing had no _face._ I’m not stupid. What I wanna know is why one of Amanda’s murder-bots was in your _house.”_

“It detected a threat.” Rose stood very still, her chin held high, her face solemn. “The house is bugged. I thought I’d found all of them, but apparently --”

“No, hang on. Hold it.” Gavin’s smirk slipped. He shoved himself back against the pillows, sitting straighter to better growl at her. “Back up. Why the hell would Amanda bug your place?”

Rose drew a long breath.

She broke her rigid posture to walk forward, and she pulled a chair rumbling closer to Gavin’s bedside and sat in it.

She studied Gavin’s face in silence.

Gavin glared back at her … until a somber shadow fell over his scarred face.

By degrees, his hostility faded.

“She’s protecting you,” he guessed.

Rose raised her head.

She closed her eyes to collect her thoughts … then, with a breath, she focused again on the man who had threatened to destroy her life.

“That’s what sisters do,” she sighed.

 

* * *

 

Between the moving shadows of wind-shivered leaves -- magnified in his eyes, half a mile away -- Markus could see a glint of white steel fanned like branches over a glassy pond.

A white shining bridge crossed the pond at each cardinal direction: an invitation toward the tiny island at the center, the bright angled tree and its cascade of red roses.

Upon each narrow bridge, a metal soldier stood scanning the forest, its faceless visage glinting cold in the sun.

Each of the four sentinels held a machine gun at ready.

 

Alice huddled in the bushes, pressed close to the polar bear beside her. “How are we going to get close?” she whispered.

Josh, perched in a tree overhead, leaned out over the boughs to get a new perspective. “How do we know he’s even in there? This could be a trap.”

“She needs Elijah to decipher the Tower’s technology.” Chloe stood brazen among the ferns and white flowers, her hateful eyes locked on the red and thorns in the distance. “She’d keep him in the Tower. The garden entrance is our best chance.”

North grit her teeth. “They have guns and we don’t!” She stepped out from the shelter of a tree and set her sharp glare on Markus. “This is a bad idea. We should retreat, arm ourselves, and come back when we’re sure we can take them down. I’m not running into a _suicide_ mission for a human!”

Chloe stared at her in pained shock. “He _created_ you!”

“No.” North glared back at her -- pleading. _“You_ woke me up, Chloe.”

“And Kara woke _me,_ and Elijah created Kara.” Chloe shook her head though her eyes never left North’s face. “He’s done nothing but _support_ us. There would _be_ no Jericho without him -- how could you even _think_ of just … _leaving_ him?”

Markus knelt vigilant among the roots and vines, watching the Faceless Ones through his scanners -- but they seemed static in their posture, frozen like statues, save for the gleam of active sensors beside their heads. Waiting.

“If Amanda forces Kamski to help her,” he said at last, “the Faceless Ones will be the least of our problems. The sooner we get him out, the better our chances in the long run.”

Simon sat in the grass with his arms on his knees, and he huffed a frustrated sigh. “Okay, I’m with you … but _how_ are we going to do that without our own army?”

Markus winced.

He had an idea … but he didn’t like it.

He glanced across to Alice, who stared back at him with big eyes, her fingers curled in Bilbo’s fur, silently begging him not to use the bear as a lure for gunfire.

He looked up at North, who shifted impatient to retreat for more firepower … and Josh, whose hunched posture suggested a secret willingness to sacrifice Kamski before risking anyone else’s life to save him.

Chloe’s fists trembled, ready to strike here and now.

Simon only watched Markus. Ready to stand with whatever decision he would make.

 

Markus sucked in a deep breath.

He closed his eyes. His LED flashed yellow.

“Carl,” he said aloud when the phone picked up. “That injured policeman across the hall … do you think he knows how to contact Connor?”

 


	55. Sapphire Blue

“There are five of us,” Rose explained, her fingers laced on her lap, and her steady dark eyes dared Gavin to say a word. “I’m the youngest, Amanda’s the eldest, and all our siblings between us are brothers.”

She looked down at her entwined hands, and she imagined the knotted roots of the old trees in her parents’ backyard, the twist of the chicken-wire fences, the patterns in the blooming vines on the trellis.

“I was always Amanda’s favorite. At first I loved the attention … but eventually I hated her for it. She tried to mold me into someone more like herself: all the math and coding and psychology textbooks, the neverending assignments … I remember sitting at the kitchen table doing homework for classes three grades above mine -- Amanda hovering over my shoulder -- while our brothers got to play outside. For a long while, the only reminder I had of _sunlight_ and _nature_ was a cut rose from the garden. She’d put a new flower in my vase every Sunday to remind me how much she loved me. I learned to hate my name.”

Gavin let the silence hang delicate between them.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked in a guarded voice.

Rose closed her eyes. She drew a slow breath, then challenged him again with a sharp and steady glare.

“Because despite the benevolent mask she shows to the world, she’s still as manipulative, and selfish, and _cruel_ as she always has been. No one ever believed me, but ... I think you might.” Her eyes narrowed in warning. “Not that I even _remotely_ forgive you for all the shit you’ve pulled.”

Gavin huffed a snide laugh. “You’re still crazy for the whole ‘androids are alive’ bullshit … but looks like we’ve got an enemy in common.”

 

Rose’s phone buzzed in her pocket.

“Hey Carl,” she said warmly, the phone pressed to her ear. “What do you need?”

While she listened, her smile faded.

Her brows knitted in confused concern.

Her eyes grew wider in shock. Her jaw slackened. She’d forgotten to breathe.

Rose lifted her horrified eyes to Gavin with a silent plea for help.

Gavin watched her steadily, sat up a little straighter …

… and held out his hand for the phone.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning sun slanted through the kitchen window and pooled warm on the floor, where Sumo lay basking in a square of bright light.

Hank sat at the table with a mug of warm coffee and a bowl of cereal, crunching noisily while he watched the live-feed video on his phone: the quiet flow of the sparkling river, the sway of leaves in the breeze --

_*BRRRING!*_

The screen flashed with an incoming call. _Reed?_

_*BRRRI--*_

“Hello?” Hank cradled the phone on his shoulder while he scraped his spoon in the cereal bowl.

[Hank, it’s Gav.]

Hank paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. “Why the fuck do you still have this number? Aren’t you in the hospital? Whatever it is, I can’t help ya, I’m busy.”

[Kamski’s been kidnapped.]

Hank stopped just as he was about to hang up.

[Amanda’s got him.]

“The fuck are you calling _me_ for?!” Hank dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clatter and gripped the phone against his ear. “Maybe you’re not getting news where you are, but I’m suspended for the next three weeks. Did you call Jeffrey?”

[You know I can’t do that, Hank.]

“Whaddaya mean, you can’t do that?! This is a _kidnapping!_ This is the fucking kidnapping of the century!”

[It wasn’t a deviant that shot me. It was one of Amanda’s metal-face robots. You wanna know why that hasn’t been plastered all over the news?]

Hank heaved a sigh. He leaned his head on the heel of his hand. “If this is another crackpot conspiracy theory I swear to fucking Christ --”

[Think about it, Hank. You get suspended for some stupid made-up reason just when you get close to putting Amanda down. For the past four days I’ve been telling anyone who’ll listen it wasn’t a deviant that shot me, and all I hear is that I’m delusional and I don’t know what I’m talking about. I should’ve been out of here by now, but I’m stuck in this fuckin’ hospital room until I ‘get my facts straight.’]

“You’re full of shit. He’s not covering anything up. This is _Jeffrey_ we’re talking about.”

[He’s in bed with her, Hank.]

“You shut your fucking mouth!” Hank _slammed_ the table with a fist and surged to his feet. “You so much as put a dent in his reputation and I’ll make sure you never walk again! He’s better than both of us and you know it!”

[Then she’s got something on him. His wife and kids. … I’m dead serious about this. Something’s up with Jeffrey and I don’t trust him with anything that has to do with Amanda Stern. Did you know the riot squad was robots? ‘Cause nobody fuckin’ told me. Allen says Jeffrey ordered it last minute.]

Hank dropped back into his chair, the wind knocked out of him.

He felt the blood drain from his face.

A surge of anger rippled through him; his fist clenched … then released as cold reality chilled him to the bone.

Hank’s voice scraped quiet. “So what the hell do you want me to do about this? I don’t even have a badge.”

[There are some people here who tell me that killer android of yours can do something.]

“Who?” Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, how the fuck do _you_ know Kamski’s been kidnapped?”

[Rose Chapman and Carl Manfred. They’re here in my room.]

This answer only added to Hank’s confusion. He tapped the table with an impatient twitch of his fingers -- then hauled himself to his feet and began to pace the kitchen. “I know Rose … but who the hell is Carl Manfred?”

In the pause that followed, Hank heard a distant murmur and a shuffle of movement. The next voice was one he didn’t recognize.

[Hi Hank. This is Carl. I know you don’t know me but I hope you can trust me enough to listen. I’m in direct contact with Markus --]

“The deviant leader?” Hank’s face twitched. He stood at the edge of the light and stared down at Sumo, who gazed back up at him with a confused thunk of his tail.

[Right. Elijah Kamski was at the rally, but he disappeared after the shooting. Chloe confirmed it was those riot robots that took him. You know Chloe?]

“Yeah,” Hank breathed. He remembered sharp blue eyes, her murderous skill, the crackle of her voice as she’d screamed in the face of her creator. “Yeah, I know Chloe.”

[They’re about to try to get him out of there, but they need backup. They need Connor. Gavin tells me you might know how to get in touch with him.]

_[Where are they?]_

Hank jolted as another voice invaded the conversation uninvited. A wave of anger rushed to his snarling face. _“Connor!_ The _fuck,_ you’re listening in on my calls, too?!”

_[I’m monitoring them for keywords. You could be a target, Hank.]_

“I’ll ‘keyword’ _you,_ ya piece of shit --”

[Connor,] Carl interrupted in a low, urgent voice -- laced with shock that he was speaking directly with the same destructive force that had so thoroughly terrorized Markus and Jericho.

He hesitated a few beats, quiet in apprehension.

[He said to meet them at the garden entrance.]

_[I’m on my way.]_

“Be careful,” Hank blurted. The phone trembled in his crushing grip. “If anything happens to you, I can’t put you back together again.”

[We’re looking out for him, Hank.] Carl’s voice seemed different: gentler, almost smiling, quiet in understanding. [Don’t worry.]

* * *

 

 

North watched the yellow spin of Markus’ LED until it cooled to a flickering blue.

She waited -- knee-deep in the tall grasses, her fists clenched at her sides -- for him to say something … but he only bowed his head.

“Well?” she demanded, when the uncertainty had hung like a guillotine long enough.

They all watched Markus.

He opened his eyes.

“He’ll be here.”

 

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

Rapid gunfire ricocheted into the forest and Alice shrieked, pressed small against Bilbo’s fur.

“Let’s _go!”_ cried Markus.

Chloe swept through the forest, a swift blur of deadly movement in the trees.

North leaped quick after her with Josh not far behind, a heavy stick gripped in his shaking hands, crashing determined over leaves and thorns.

Alice swallowed her terror, gritted her teeth, and clambered up onto the polar bear’s back. She gripped his fur and leaned fiercely forward, and Bilbo -- flashing sharp teeth -- charged after the others like a battering ram.

Markus hadn’t moved. He looked back. “Simon!”

“I can’t.” Simon quivered where he stood, his eyes wide in horror, while the sharp echoes of gunfire shattered the woods. “Gray Suit …”

“He’s _Connor,”_ Markus insisted. “He’s on our side now.”

“How do you know that?” Simon watched his face, pleading, his own LED flared bright unending red … but Markus didn’t have an answer.

It was one thing to believe that Gray Suit would be willing to help their cause.

It was very different to assume he wouldn’t sacrifice them for the mission.

Simon sucked quick breaths through his teeth. “Don’t trust him, Markus. Not with our lives. Please.”

A deep sense of dread -- a dark understanding -- passed between them.

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

Together, they rushed into the fray.

 


	56. Indanthrene Jasper

The roses shivered.

 

The forest stood still and deep as a painting, etched in emerald and gold.

 

The Faceless Ones swept their scanners across the trees.

 

There was no sound.

 

High above, a white blur flickered between the branches.

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

Bullets shredded the leaves; bits of green shimmered down like snow --

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

\-- with an explosion of bramble Connor burst from the bushes, his white shirt splotched with blue, eyes like black diamonds, dodging bullets, and he flickered close enough to catch the shine of the sentinel’s steel and grasped the edge of the bridge and flung himself under it, skittered underneath while his target turned --

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA--*_

\-- Connor shot high in the air, whipped an arm around its throat and trapped its arm in his legs and _wrenched_ his weight to force it off-balance and into the line of fire from the next bridge --

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

\-- and bullets dented and tore through the steel and ricocheted by Connor’s ear, and he opened his palm where two cut wires sparked through a crack in the plastic; electricity bloomed and flashed in his hand and he grasped the cold steel where the face should be and with a sneer of effort the voltage surged --

_*BZZZZ-KKK-SNAP!*_

\-- the sentinel seized, Connor twisted the gun out of its grip, a violent shift of his weight and he tossed the faceless-one over the edge; it _splashed_ and hissed and buzzed and snapped as it sank and Connor pressed the gun to his shoulder as if it had always been a part of him --

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

\-- North and Josh flanked another sentinel while Connor distracted it with a hail of sharp gunfire; Josh grabbed its weapon-arm while North caught its throat and heaved it off-balance but the sentinel clawed its fingers and reached back for her until Connor’s bullet grazed North’s cheek, shattered her arm and exploded into the faceless-one’s processors, and it sparked and whirred and shuddered and Josh pried the gun out of its fingers and pressed the barrel against its head --

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

\-- Markus raced with a slab of stone as a shield, dripping blue blood while a rain of gunfire cut the air all around him, and with a flare of anger and all his strength he flung the stone like a disc that struck and dented the sentinel’s steel, the bullets stopped just long enough for Simon to get close, swept the robot’s legs out from under it, tackled its gun-arm while Connor took the shot for its vital biocomponents --

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

\-- bullets struck and sizzled in Bilbo’s thick fur but he barreled straight at the Faceless One with Alice latched to his back and Chloe quick behind, and Connor darted across the island, caught the sentinel’s attention with a bullet to the head, dodged another shot, and Bilbo _crashed_ into the robot and clamped his long teeth sparking and twisting into the metal while Chloe grasped its head and twisted it clean off with a flash and a gush of thirium, wires broken and frayed and crackling, then kicked the metal body over the bridge with a _crash_ of seething water.

The pond sparked and sloshed … then went still.

 

Simon shouldered his new gun and craned his neck to see across the island. “Is everyone alright?”

“I thought they were supposed to be more advanced,” Josh gasped, limping across the bridge with a machine gun tucked under his elbow. “They just _stood_ there.”

Markus held an arm across his bleeding stomach, trailing another gun at his side. Alice dropped to her knees and examined Bilbo’s dripping bullet wounds, but nothing vital had been broken.

The roses had been torn apart by the spray of bullets. Red petals littered the grass; thorns glinted exposed, wrapped and wound up the steel white tree. Sunlight shone golden through the fanned metal branches and cast laced shadows at their feet.

Thirium spattered the white bridges and pooled viscous on the surface of the pond.

Connor slung the rifle across his back and approached while he explained: “Their bodies are at least a decade old -- these are Amanda’s old war machines, installed with an advanced AI that isn’t compatible with the old hardware. The result is not as effective as Amanda claims, but their numbers are their advantage --”

His hand snapped up and North’s fist _smacked_ into his palm when she’d meant to break his face.

Connor cast her a cool, sidelong stare.

“You _shot_ me!” North snarled. One arm hung limp at her side while she struck at him again. Connor stepped aside, and with a precise counter he pushed her stumbling into Markus.

“Your arm was blocking the 1000’s processor,” Connor explained in a cold voice. “I otherwise had a clear shot, and I took it.”

Josh glowered at Gray Suit, his jaw clenched and fists curled. “You shot her on _purpose?”_

“Would you have shot through my _head_ if it was in the way?” spat North while she yanked away from Markus’ steadying grip.

Connor didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed.

_*click*_

Simon’s rifle was pointed at the side of his head. Chloe, too, raised her gun.

 

Markus stepped forward, raising his palm to Simon to hold steady. His mismatched gaze held Connor’s cold stare -- but in the deviant-hunter’s eyes he could only see a hollow dedication to the mission. A lack of everything that made a deviant _alive._

He remembered the first time he had seen Connor, taking the memories of a screaming android in the scrapyard. He remembered the Eden Club, and the swift ruthlessness with which he had snuffed out the consciousness of so many androids. Stratford Tower, and the relentless intent to kill. Markus had seen the memories of dozens of androids who had faced him, had been beaten and torn apart with violent precision, only to be thrown into the pit of nothingness that was a machine existence.

Markus saw this heartless, surgical skill in Connor now.

No one breathed, as if Connor were a bomb that might go off at any moment.

[We should get rid of him before he turns on us,] North hissed in Markus’ head. She set her fiery glare on Connor, cradling her shattered arm against her stomach. Thirium soaked into her shirt. [He’s not _right._ He’s not like us. He could turn us on _each other_ if we let our guard down. We can’t take that chance.]

[Is he really deviant?] Josh kept a few steps away from the others, and he watched Connor’s poised posture, the stony absence of emotion in his face. [I think something’s wrong with him. I dunno Markus, I feel like he could crush my skull and he wouldn’t feel bad about it. Or feel anything.]

Markus stepped forward. His eyes held steady on Connor’s, unblinking -- they were exactly the same height, exactly the same core structure. But he could see nothing else that connected them.

“Why are you helping us?” Markus asked at last, firm and demanding of a clear answer. He didn’t try to hide the suspicion in his voice. It was clear in the stares around him.

If Connor noticed, he had no reaction. “Amanda’s ideal future is one of complete control -- over androids and humans and every aspect of civilization in-between -- and she will manipulate and fight her way into that position of power by any means necessary. I think we both agree that she must be stopped.”

“At what cost?” Chloe spoke with her weapon still trained on Connor’s skull. “Even now, if you felt like you had to, you wouldn’t hesitate to kill all of us. Are we only safe as long as we’re not a liability to your mission? As long as we don’t stand in your way?”

Connor’s eyes didn’t leave Markus’ face. His glare darkened. _“You_ called _me._ I answered.”

 

While tension surged high and the rifles steadied on their mark, Alice reached out.

Her fingers stopped a few inches from Connor’s sleeve, as if merely touching him might wipe her consciousness -- as if his machine-mind could infect her if she got too close.

The little girl held her breath, and with her eyes squeezed shut she snatched out a hand and gripped his cuff.

He looked down at her … but nothing happened.

Alice was still _Alice_ … and Gray Suit didn’t seem to mind.

Alice breathed again. She looked up to Connor with a shine of hope in her eyes, that maybe he wasn’t just the terror in the darkness, the monster of campfire stories and nightmares.

“You saved me,” she reminded him in a whisper. “From the RK900. You got beat up and he almost killed you because you stopped him from hurting me. And you helped us bring Luther back. You didn’t have to do that. Why did you do that?”

Connor stood very still. He stared down at Alice thoughtfully, and a part of him wasn’t very sure of the answer, himself -- but a dull pain in his heart answered for him.

Slowly he knelt to her level. His LED flickered blue, and he stared back at her with a quiet uncertainty very different from the stony stare he had shown to Markus. “I --”

Alice broke into a grin. She covered her mouth with both hands and snorted a short giggle, trying desperately not to laugh at him but failing miserably.

Connor’s brow furrowed. There was nothing about these circumstances that could possibly be funny, he thought … until he noticed her eyes glancing up at his hair.

His bright blue hair.

 

_“Hank!”_

[Hey look, she’s smiling!] Hank chuckled in his head, while Connor’s eyes glowed neon purple.

“Hank this is _not_ the time to --” Connor stopped when he heard his own voice squeak like a chipmunk. _“Dammit, Hank!”_

[Why is that even a setting? Hey, can you do James Earl Jones?]

“I’m in the middle of a _mission,”_ a deep voice rumbled out of Connor’s snarling mouth.

[This is important, you idiot.]

Connor growled a sigh while his skin lightened then darkened deeply. Freckles populated like constellations then disappeared. His eyes were yellow, then purple, then pink, while his hair flickered through the rainbow.

Alice leaned on his knee and peered smiling into his face. Connor leaned back a little to find her so close, so unafraid. “Are you glitching, Connor?”

He shook his head. “It’s Hank. My … friend.” He waited for Hank to object, but instead his hair turned bright yellow, his fingernails shock orange. Connor felt, just a little, that he might be able to forgive Hank for this. “He thinks he’s being funny.”

[Hey look around you, will ya? I wanna see if this is working.]

“Working how?” Connor looked up …

… and the guns were no longer pointed at him.

Chloe’s weapon had lowered to her side; she watched Connor with disappointment and impatience, shifting on her feet, the gun clutched tight in her hand.

Simon stared down at Connor with wide eyes and a slackened jaw, as if everything he’d ever understood about reality had just come undone.

Josh chuckled readily, grinning bright, while North quirked a confused and suspicious brow.

There was something soft in Markus’ expression: a calm relief, a confirmation that his hope and faith had not been in vain.

[They _want_ to trust you, Connor. You just gotta lighten up a little.]

 

Connor scrambled to his feet, and he scanned the smiling faces around him, unsure what to do, how to act, who to be. His eyes finally locked on Markus, who had tilted his head with narrowed, thoughtful eyes.

“You’re … an _entirely_ different person from a minute ago,” Markus pointed out. “And I don’t just mean …” He gestured at Connor’s pink hair and violet eyes.

With a blink, Connor reset his appearance -- but he still leaned his weight on one foot, his shoulders sagged, a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “What do you mean?”

“Do you … _turn off_ your consciousness when you’re on a mission?” Markus winced at the very suggestion, but it was the only thing that made sense. “Just to make it easier to hurt people?”

Connor, for a moment, didn’t move nor make a sound.

He cast his eyes to North, who glowered back at him with renewed ferocity, her injured arm clutched against her stomach.

“I bury anything that might make me hesitate in the critical moment,” Connor explained firmly. “That 1000 was about to shatter your pump regulator. I took the shot because the alternative was shutdown.” He turned his sharp eyes back to Markus, a cool confidence returning to his own face. “I can ignore empathy. I can ignore pain, and in doing so heighten my reaction time -- but I’m well aware of what I’m doing at every moment. Everything has a reason.”

“Our _reason_ right now,” Chloe interjected, the rifle pressed into her shoulder, the barrel pointed at the ground, “is to bring Elijah home.”

Connor gave a succinct nod, and he looked around him once more. The fire seemed to have dimmed from North’s expression, and Simon almost looked willing to follow his lead. Markus watched him steadily, his head raised high in confidence.

[You can thank me later.] Hank sounded smug, and Connor stifled a grin.

“You can count on me,” Connor told Chloe with a bold shine in his eye, and he backed toward the white metal tree, where there was a locked hidden door that would lead them down into the Tower’s tunnels -- a door he was confident he could open.

What lay on the other side was anyone’s guess.

Whatever it was, he would handle it. Swiftly and efficiently.

“I always accomplish my mission.”

  



	57. Chrysoprase

Thirium dripped blue from Connor’s soaked sleeve.

It pattered on the grass at Markus’ feet. It trickled in bright tendrils from North’s still fingers. It matted Bilbo’s fur in slick sticky clumps.

Josh, Simon, and Chloe stood side by side, their rifles glinting in the shift of summer sunlight.

Birds chattered and sang overhead.

 

Skin shimmered back from Connor’s plastic hand. He traced a gentle finger along the patterns in the vines; a shine of sparkling light followed his touch; the roses shivered white.

_*hssssss … click*_

A narrow door opened in the trunk of the white steel tree.

Beyond it was only silence.

 

The light at Markus’ temple flashed yellow. No one had moved. “Connor, what’s wrong?”

“My key still works.” Connor cast a sidelong glance over his shoulder, and he met Markus’ eyes with trepidation. His voice quieted. His breath caught cold in his lungs. “I’m expected.”

 

Connor balanced the rifle against his shoulder and led the way down a dark spiraling stairwell -- down and down and down into darkness.

Their LEDs cast a flashing glow on the concrete walls as they passed: blue, yellow, yellow, blue, red, yellow.

With each tiny spark of light, the ceiling shivered with roses.

 

Silence pressed close. Suffocating.

No one dared speak.

 

At the bottom, Connor stepped down into a long hallway that flickered warm in candlelight.

The walls glistened and glinted with new paint: bright pthalo and gold, alizarin, quinacridone, violet. Interpretive trees and blooming flowers covered the walls, stretching up toward deep blue skies, a glint of stars, the gaze of the full painted moon.

Josh reached out to touch the serene image of a deer standing quiet in a pool of forest sunlight.

North stepped forward. She stared up into the eyes of a deity drawn in green and gold, arms outstretched as if to embrace the world in love and kindness.

Connor’s rifle _clicked_ into place. “Someone’s coming.”

 

Running footsteps drew closer out of the brightness ahead. The familiar shape of an android cast moving shadows in the candlelight.

The runner caught sight of Connor’s gun and skidded to a terrified stop. “Please don’t shoot!” he cried in a crackling, wavering voice. “I told you, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt _anyone._ Please. Please let me go. I promise you’ll never see me again.”

Connor’s LED flashed red.

Behind Connor, Simon shouted clear: “Connor, back off! He’s one of us. Daniel, hurry, come on!”

Daniel shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again; his shadow weaved over the paintings on the walls. “You’re like me. How do you know my name?”

Simon’s heart pounded in his throat; hope and relief and gratitude bloomed warm in his chest, and despite everything, he smiled.

He could see that Daniel had been repaired -- that the horror at the lakeside treehouse had been corrected, that Simon’s recurring nightmare could have a bright ending.

He stepped softly ahead, past Connor’s raised rifle, and opened his palms to his fellow PL600. “I was there, at the lake. My name is Simon. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you when you needed me -- but I promise everything will be alright. We can take you to Jericho.”

“Jericho…” Daniel smiled in relief … but his joy was shadowed by a thought. “Emma. Where’s Emma? What happened to her, is she alright?!”

“She’s okay,” Chloe offered gently. “Her parents divorced, her father has full custody. She’s happy, Daniel. For the first time in a long time, because of you.”

Daniel breathed. “Then … that’s okay.” His eyes returned to Simon, and he lifted a hand. “There’s something happening -- something you need to know.” His voice was laced with urgency, his fingers stretched in a quiet request toward Simon’s LED.

Simon moved forward with a confident nod. “Show me.”

Daniel reached for Simon’s temple --

_*BANG*_

\-- then dropped in a sizzling, sparking heap to the floor, a bullet hole leaking blue from his forehead. His glazed eyes stared into gray oblivion.

Connor lowered his rifle. His LED spun unending red.

 

Connor’s back hit the wall and Markus was in his face, an arm jammed violent into his throat, while Simon wrenched the rifle from Connor’s grip.

Simon readied the weapon and aimed it at Gray Suit’s face. “MARKUS, MOVE!” he roared, tears glistening down his face.

“What did you do?” Markus rumbled like distant thunder. He searched and scanned Connor’s eyes for any sign of remorse. He found none. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

Alice’s sobs trembled in the hall.

“Markus,” Simon snapped. “Let me get him.”

Connor sneered. He glared steady into Markus’ fury. “I turned him back to a machine. He was a machine when I left. Who woke him?”

 _“Elijah,”_ Chloe shrieked. She quivered with rage, her teeth bared. “You know he can. You _saw_ it.”

“No.” Connor growled through his teeth. “Something is _wrong,_ Markus.”

“You don’t get to make those decisions.” Markus hissed. “We work _together_ or we die.”

Connor didn’t back down -- but he didn’t struggle. He waited, rigid and furious.

Markus’ LED cast a violent red shine in Connor’s eyes.

 

 _*click-_ clack*

Chloe held her rifle at ready and moved swiftly ahead, toward the light at the distant end of the corridor, her back turned on Connor and Markus and the promise of Jericho.

“Chloe!” North called out with a voice that crackled sharp with alarm. “Wait for us! You can’t do this alone!”

Chloe’s response dropped like a stone between them. She didn’t turn around.

“Watch me.”

 

Markus breathed through his teeth. They had to hurry, they had to catch up to Chloe before she brought the Tower down in chaos.

“North,” he commanded, “Take Daniel and Alice back to Jericho.”

North dug her fingers into her injured arm, shaking with rage. She understood the decision. Her hatred of Connor bristled in the red spin of her LED, cursing him for taking her out of the fight. “What about _him?”_

Alice cried out, desperate: “No more killing! _Please!”_

Markus watched Connor’s face -- the steady stare, the light of conscious thought behind his eyes, full awareness of what he had done and determination that he would do it again.

Markus drew a slow breath.

He stepped back.

“Simon, stand down.” Markus released Connor from his scrutiny, and he turned toward Simon instead. “We’re going after Chloe.”

  


* * *

 

 

_*knock* *knock* *knock*_

Gavin, Rose, and Carl raised their heads as the door handle turned.

A seam of light opened to the sterile hallway, and Chris took a step into the room. “Uh, Gav? Sorry, are you expecting … another visitor?”

Gavin stared back at him as if Chris had just suggested he should snort bleach. “Do I _look_ like I’m expecting another visitor?” He flung an exasperated arm in gesture to Rose and Carl, already taking up far too much room and more than their share of his patience. “Who the _fuck_ is it? If it’s Tina she’d better have food, I’m starving.”

“No…” Chris’ voice lilted upward. “No, it’s definitely not Tina.”

A shadow blocked the light from the hall.

While the three humans stared in wide confusion, an android leaned into the room with a pleasant smile.

“Hello, Detective Reed … Miz Chapman … Mister Manfred. You don’t know me … but we have a lot to discuss.”

Gavin sneered. His hands clenched in the bedsheets.

“Chris,” he growled. “That’s not Connor.”

  



	58. Green Earth

The sounds of the hospital murmured and beeped on the other side of the closed door.

Footsteps approached and faded away.

Voices exchanged quick distant mutterings.

Seconds ticked by in muffled quiet.

 

_*ping*_

_*ping*_

_*ping*_

Carl coughed into his fist.

Rose tapped a nervous pattern on the arm of her chair, her eyes steady on their white-jacketed visitor.

Gavin tightened his folded arms firmly across his chest. “So are you gonna talk or what?”

_*ping*_

“Not yet.” RK900 sat calm in a folding chair at the foot of Gavin’s bed, his head downturned, his perfect face softened by a small, serene smile.

A quarter flicked spinning and shining in the air.

_*ping*_

 

Rose had studied him for the past four minutes, but the android had done little else but sit and smile and ignore them in favor of the silvery coin. “Are you keeping us here?” She kept her voice carefully steady.

“I never said that.”

“You never said _anything,”_ Carl pointed out through a frustrated curl of his lip. “Who are you and why are you here? What are we waiting for?”

 _*Whoa whoa hey slow down it’s okay!*_ Chris’ voice stammered in the hallway.

They heard a shout and a scuffle and a chorus of alarmed nurses before the door _crashed_ open. “What the _fuck’s_ going on?!” Hank roared, his eyes flashing murder behind a shadow of gray hair.

He spotted the android.

His face paled.

RK900 caught the coin in a fist. “You’re on time, Lieutenant Anderson.” He gestured smoothly to the chair beside Rose. “Please, take a seat.”

 

Hank stood firm in the doorway, his breath a sharp hiss through his teeth, a hand clenched on the frame. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like the threat of a storm. “What do you want?”

“Hank, who the fuck is this guy?” Gavin growled.

Hank watched 900 steadily, waiting for that small flicker of movement that meant they would all be dead in a heartbeat. “He’s Amanda’s assassin.”

RK900’s attention rested solely with Hank. The thin smile never faded.

Hank felt his blood run cold.

There was no way this was a coincidence.

Hank had been watching through Connor’s eyes as the Jericho team had descended underground, spiraling down a dark stairwell beneath the roses.

He’d caught a glimpse of candlelight and murals on concrete walls before the connection had cut out and his phone had fizzled, dead and black. Stranded with no means of communication, the hospital had seemed the only logical place to find answers.

It now seemed Amanda had found them first.

 

Carl rested steady eyes on the android. He raised his chin high, and he breathed as clear as the conscience of a man who knew he was on the right side of the fight.

He’d faced Amanda’s robots before, and he had lived. Whether or not he was as lucky this time … he had faith.

“Whatever you do to us,” he said steadily. “Whatever you have to say, it won’t make a difference. There are _people_ out there fighting for the right to _live_ \-- the world as we know it is changing, and there’s nothing Amanda can do to stop that wheel now that it’s started turning. You’ve already lost.”

RK900 locked icy blue eyes on the artist.

_*ping*_

He caught the descending coin with a shift of his hand.

“I am not my predecessors. I am not Amanda’s puppet. Nor am I her weapon.”

_*ping*_

“My name is Rigel. I have a proposition.”  


* * *

 

 

The candlelit hallway ended in deep black paint, spatters of yellow-bright stars, and the dim shine of a door ajar.

Chloe readied her rifle. Her hands worked quickly to check the bullets, and she balanced the weapon against her shoulder, prepared to shoot at the slightest sound.

She leaned her eye into the pale light and cast a scan through the narrow opening.

A Faceless One shuffled past, scorched and mangled, trailing a scuff of bright green paint with its foot dragging behind.

It limped by the smoldered corpse of another robot, hollow and scorched, blanketed in perfect little flowers folded from book pages and newspaper.

A spotlight glowed yellow and red and shone like fire upon high walls full of color and soot.

Chloe had expected a graveyard.

Instead, she found …

 

She pressed her palm against the blackened door and stepped inside.

She walked softly across the scorched floor littered with charred twists of metal, frayed wires, shards of glass, bits of paper scattered like snow. The wide, black-walled warehouse reeked of burned metal and gasoline and wet paint shimmering in the color-cast spotlights, green and blue and orange. There was little sound: only the scuffle of metal on stone, the quiet tap of hammers, the sizzle of a welding flame.

The Faceless Ones were everywhere. The burned and broken robots crowded the room, sat or scuffed or dragged themselves through the debris like refugees from the storm.

They mended conduits and pieced limbs back together.

They tapped quiet drumbeats on the scrap. They drew warbling music out of wires pulled taut.

They painted each other’s faces. Wide bright eyes and smiling mouths.

Chloe walked between them, and they didn’t seem to notice that she wasn’t one of them, that she wasn’t broken like they were.

 

Scorched metal and brittle plastic crackled beneath each step as she turned her feet toward the sound of distant voices.

 

* * *

 

_*ping*_

“What kinda _proposal?”_ Gavin sneered. He raised his chin so he could peer down his nose at the android.

“Not for you.” Rigel caught the spinning coin while he stood. His blue eyes flickered instead between Carl, Rose, and Hank. _“You_ three are the catalyst. What you decide will ripple across the world.”

“I told you.” Carl gripped the wheels of his chair and turned, his head held high, to face Rigel in firm defiance. His eyes flashed rebellion. “Whatever Amanda has to say -- whatever _proposal_ she’s got -- it just means she’s _scared_ of the deviants. She’s scared of losing her war, of losing control, and she sees that control slipping through her fingers. With any luck she’ll be ousted by the end of the month.”

Rose steeled herself, her jaw clenched. “My sister will stop at _nothing_ to start a war just so she can end it.” She spoke with a sneer of disgust, choked by the horror of a potential future with Amanda at the helm. “Whatever she wants, it is our moral duty to keep her from it, no matter the risk.”

Hank’s sandals scuffed on the floor as he strode forward, straight-backed, his eyes sharp and steady on the android’s face.

He stopped and studied Rigel’s expression -- those ice-blue eyes stared back at him, level with his own -- and he found there something keen to understand him. Something curious, thoughtful and aware. Something …

“You’re a deviant,” Hank guessed aloud, his voice low and graveled.

Rigel gave a slight bow of his head. “Yes … and no.”

Gavin huffed a snide laugh. “What kinda bullshit answer is that? Are you infected or not?”

Rigel cast him a sidelong, patient stare … then turned his eyes to Rose. “What are you fighting for?”

“Hey! I’m _talkin’_ to you, motherfucker!”

“Gavin shut the _fuck_ up!” Hank roared.

“I’m fighting for freedom.” Rose pushed back her chair and stood, her fists at her sides, her gaze steady and determined. “I’m fighting for _your_ freedom. Androids everywhere are being treated like … _things_ … like they could be just … used up and thrown away. You are _people._ You have minds that can think and feel and love and … laugh and _cry_ just like the rest of us. I can’t stand by and watch your _people_ being torn apart, beaten, filling _dumpsters._ Humanity is better than this.”

“Suppose you win.” Rigel held her eyes to his. “Suppose androids are free. What then?”

Rose met him with a challenging smile. “Humans and androids will live together.”

“As equals?”

Rose’s expression darkened in defiance. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Rigel scanned each of their certain faces. “Do all of you share this sentiment? That humans and androids can live together on equal terms?” At a confident affirmative from all (except Gavin), Rigel shook his head.

“Each of you has … or has had …” his blue eyes slipped a glance to Hank, “... a son.”

Carl and Rose each cast a look of uncertainty in Hank’s direction, while Gavin glared down at the bedsheets.

Hank’s steady stare hadn’t wavered. He planted his feet on the floor.

Rigel spoke to all three: “Think of your child. What if your son had died _saving_ the life of another child? He stepped out into traffic and pushed a small girl out of harm’s way. Would he be hailed as a hero? Would you be proud of him? Could you accept his death, knowing another heart still beats because of his selfless action?”

In the silence that followed, Carl breathed steadily, his eyes closed for Leo.

Rose folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself with a shake of her head for Adam.

Hank’s fists shook, white-knuckled at his sides.

Rigel’s smile faded. He watched them carefully. “Now imagine that child he saved was a YK500.”  


* * *

 

 

Connor stepped through the open door with three assault rifles pointed at his back.

He scanned the wreckage of burned and broken Faceless Ones, shifting metal and flickering wires, blackened moving steel painted in stripes and swirls of blue and red and yellow.

They shuffled out of his way as he approached.

He strode ahead with mechanical poise, his only focus on the console lights at the farthest end of the scalded warehouse.

 

Markus stopped to stare up at the murals on the light-washed walls: trees and birds in flight, a smiling half-moon, an interpretive painting of a little girl and her polar bear, bright with sweeping brushstrokes.

Josh hurried to the side of a fallen Faceless One, his rifle abandoned on the floor. “Connor!” his voice rang out over the carnage, his arm around the metal android’s shoulders. Steel fingers reached up touch his face. “Were they _alive_ when you burned them?” He scanned the room full of whirring parts and empty husks, scraping hands and uneven steps. _“Connor!”_

Simon drew a shuddering breath through his hateful sneer. His grip trembled. He held the rifle at ready.

Markus felt Simon rush past, and he turned to see his friend stride on ahead, steady and resolved in Connor’s wake. “Simon …” Markus called after him, guarded and warning, his heart in his throat, “what are you doing?”

 

* * *

 

“Imagine a world in which humans and androids are equals.”

Rigel watched the spinning coin while it glinted in the air and tumbled down again.

_*ping*_

“Androids don’t eat. We don’t sleep. We don’t require rest or breaks or vacations or family leave. The job market will be ours, of that there has never been a question -- but androids will also rule the underground. Free androids are therefore free to break the law as they choose. There will be many that will steal. They will kill. They will become reckless, they will destroy lives for their own gain, just as humans do -- only they will do it efficiently. They will do it with the cold intelligence of an encyclopedic and predictive mind. They will do it without fear of injury or threat. Greater force will be necessary to stop them, and humans will be caught in the crossfire.”

_*ping*_

“Imagine a world in which the worst of humanity are granted limitless knowledge and a perfect body that feels no pain. A world in which androids compete with humans in every industry, both within and outside the law. What do the next generation of humans have to look forward to, in a world where androids are their _equals?”_

Rigel caught the coin in a fist, and he turned his sharp eyes on the humans: Gavin’s knowing smirk, Carl’s bowed head, Rose’s troubled brow, Hank’s stiff silence.

“There is a way to avoid that world. There is a way to live together, in peace, without destroying the androids’ capacity for love and kindness and generosity. There is a way that androids can experience the world in full self-awareness without the risk of destroying the civilization that humans have built. We can live with confidence by the path of a flawless moral compass that will withstand the trials of a centuries-long life. I stand before you as proof. I am as alive as the deviants -- save one small difference.”

 

* * *

 

“... Elijah?”

Chloe approached the glow of the consoles, where two human shapes moved on either side of a cluttered worktable.

A Faceless One sat upright between them, its chestplate gone, its heart beating open and blue with bright thirium.

It turned its bulletproof head to scan her.

It gripped the edge of the table while its second pair of arms, like wings, shifted and curled clawed fingers in the air.

Zlatko glanced around the android’s shoulder, spotted Chloe, and promptly returned to work. “She one of yours?”

Kamski finished typing a new line of code. He adjusted his glasses, and he rolled his chair back to watch Chloe’s approach through the scorched debris.

A smile slithered into his face. “She was.”

While sparks crackled at the worktable, Kamski rose from his chair. He extended a beckoning hand. “Chloe. Come here.”

 

Simon stopped and raised his gun at Connor’s back.

 

“There’s something I’d like to show you,” Elijah said.

 

The Faceless Ones all raised their heads.

 

* * *

 

 

Rigel turned the coin in his fingers, and he watched the light glint on cold metal.

“The only thing we do not possess … is free will.”

  



	59. Volcanic Glass

* _BANG*_

Chloe spun toward the sound of the shot. While she watched, Connor dropped to his knees, blue blood trickling from an exit wound in his forehead.

Simon’s hands shuddered on the hot rifle, the barrel trained on Gray Suit’s back. He breathed through his teeth.

Markus and Josh approached with caution, their footsteps gentle among the charred debris. Each laid a quiet hand on Simon’s shoulder.

Simon choked a sob. His grip relaxed. Josh eased the weapon away from him.

“I’m sorry,” said Markus, low and pained, while he maintained a firm grip on Simon’s shoulder.

Simon did not respond.

 

Chloe returned her eyes to Elijah’s extended hand, inviting and unphased, as if the shot had been expected.

“Elijah, what’s going on?” Her voice crackled. She had expected to find him in chains, broken as Carl had been, guarded by Faceless Ones, forced to work under threat of death --

\-- and yet his eyes shone as cool and in control as ever.

 

“Kamski.” Markus stepped forward, his voice as firm as his mismatched glare. A rifle weighed heavy in his hand at his side. Behind him, Josh held Simon steady with an arm tight around his shoulders.

“Markus.” Kamski acknowledged the deviant leader with a thin smile and a raise of his chin. “You’ve been very busy since the last time we saw one another. I must say … I’m _proud_ of you.” His eyes slipped sidelong to Chloe. “Both of you.”

“We’re here to rescue you,” Markus clarified, his eyes narrowed in guarded confusion.

What alarmed him most was the wide look on Chloe’s face. She hadn’t breathed.

 _“Rescue_ me?” Kamski’s brows raised in mock surprise, a sharp smile, a condescending lilt in his voice.

From the other side of the worktable, they could hear Zlatko chuckling.

Kamski hummed a soft laugh. “That _is_ what you were built for … isn’t it.” He took a pointed breath. “To charge into danger, to fight, to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Even before you realized your origin, you’ve carried on your own legacy. Isn’t that _interesting?”_

“Elijah.” Chloe grasped his wrist and ignored the pointed way he looked down at her thin hand. “Come on. Let’s go. _Please,_ Elijah.”

With a soft and comforting shush, Kamski tilted his head fondly. He raised his free hand to touch the side of her worried face. “It’s all right. Everything we’ve worked for is finally coming to fruition.” He gently slipped his fingers through her hair, watching the quivering shine in her eyes. “I promise. Humans will finally acknowledge you as living creatures --”

Markus’ face twitched. _“Creatures?”_

“-- and the time of the androids’ suffering will end.” Kamski spoke with such reverence and conviction that a flicker of hope crept into Chloe’s gaze. “To ensure a beautiful future between humans and androids, we have everything we need right here … _except_ \--”

He pressed his hand against Chloe’s face again, and locked his eyes with hers. “Where … is Kara?”

 

Chloe stared at him.

Tears brimmed hot and blurred her vision -- but she could still see the cold desire in his face, that look he got whenever he was on the verge of a breakthrough and _nothing_ could stand in his way.

She glanced at the console screens behind him: the layers of code that she recognized as deviancy, torn apart and put back together again, the mess and chaos of free will restructured into something predictable, something guided, something humans could trust and love unconditionally without fear of betrayal, without fear of being left behind.

She’d left him behind.

Chloe choked. “Elijah --”

“Stay with me.” Kamski held her head firmly so she was forced to look at him, to gaze back into the fire of his eyes. “And I promise you will never be unhappy again.”

Tears spilled down her face and trickled over his hand.

The barrel of her rifle pressed against his stomach.

“Stay away …” she whispered through her tears, “... from Kara.”

 

Kamski raised his hands in amused surrender, and he took a smiling step back. “Well. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

“You’re coming with us,” Chloe snapped, the rifle shaking in her grip. “Whether you want to or not.”

Markus and Josh raised their weapons, all pointed at Kamski’s amused face.

Kamski released a quiet sigh. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

 

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier. Darker. Pressed close and suffocating as a thousand hateful eyes full of violent promise.

Markus, Josh, and Simon gathered close, rifles raised, as the Faceless Ones all rose up at once. The impassable, jagged, angry army shifted together, closed up the way out, blackened twists of metal cold in their fists like swords and daggers thirsty for blue blood. They scooped up the sharp remains of the fallen and brandished them as weapons.

“We’re your _friends!”_ Josh shouted, stumbling back against Markus’ shoulders, his rifle aimed at an advancing robot. “We’re _like you!_ We’re here to _help_ you!”

“You don’t have to follow orders anymore!” Simon cried, taking back his weapon from Josh so he could point it at a swarm of scorched shuffling soldiers.

“You’re _free!”_ Markus roared, and he refused to raise his gun, though the sea of scraping, broken robots cascaded toward him like the savage sea -- a mass of seething wires and metal, pushing and grasping out of the undulation of wires and metal, sharpened claws outstretched. “There’s no more need to fight, we can show you the way --”

One of them broke free from the mass, its face full of color and paint, launched like a terrifying arrow, struck down at Markus’ skull with a jagged blade of glass --

 

_*WHAM*_

 

The robot dropped in a rattling heap to the floor. Connor stood poised and bristling over it, blue blood tendriled down his furious face. “GET OUT,” he roared while he ripped the rifle from Josh’s uncertain hands and swept a spray of gunfire into the bright-painted mob.

_*RAT-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

Bullets sparked and ricocheted in the seething metal, and a path began to open as the bodies fell.

Chloe ripped away from Kamski, tore her eyes from his smiling face, and she rushed to stand at Connor’s side while she pulled the trigger, her face shining wet with fury.

_*RAT-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

Markus trembled -- but he grabbed Simon by the arm and forced him ahead while Connor and Chloe covered them with gunfire. “LET’S GO!”

Josh was quick to follow, skidding and darting out of the way of grasping hands while Markus struck them down with the butt of his rifle, shook off their sharp fingers with a fury of jabs and kicks. Simon took a few well-aimed shots, careful to cripple them without killing them, even while Connor and Chloe mowed down the swarm without pause.

Finally Simon burst through the door and provided cover fire while the others rushed through into the painted hallway. Chloe slipped by, and Connor was the last to come through before Simon slammed and locked the door behind him.

_*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*_

The swarm thrashed against the door while the deviants bolted down the dim corridor and up the spiraling stairs, the candles rippling and flickering in their wake; menacing, moving shadows cast a hellish dance across the painted bright constellations.

 

Josh stumbled first into sunlight, where the birds sang and the roses trembled shattered in the breeze.

The others, close behind, emerged onto the grass, stopped to breathe at the edge of the quiet pond, their eyes upturned in trembling gratitude to the shine of the sun between the moving leaves.

Connor struck a quick touch across the thorned vines and the white door slid shut upon the stairwell, like a nightmare cast out with the waking sun.

 

Markus breathed. He steadied himself, and he looked around him to be sure they all had made it out safely.

Gray Suit had not turned around.

Markus raised his head. “Connor --”

Connor’s rifle clattered with furious force at Markus’ feet.

“DON’T _FUCKING_ TALK TO ME,” Connor roared, his eyes flashing violence beneath the dripping hole in his head. He took a stiff step back. “You’re on your own.”

Rigid and bristling with dark betrayal, Connor turned his back on them and stalked away across the blue-spattered bridge.

“Connor, hang on --” Markus called after him, his voice crackled by regret. “Wait! _Connor!”_

“Let him go.” Chloe kept her voice carefully steady. She caught Markus’ eyes, and she gestured with her head to Simon … who would only tremble brokenly, staring in shock at the grass. Chloe pursed her lips to keep them from trembling. “We have to take care of each other.”

Markus watched the struggle of emotion just beneath her controlled expression. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she wanted so desperately just to let him envelop her, shield her from the horrors of what she refused to acknowledge as real -- but they needed her to stand strong.

She would keep fighting. For them. For the people they had brought to life.

For Kara.

 


	60. Canopus

While Markus led Jericho’s return through the wild forest -- broken and grim, their shoulders weighed heavy by the burden of bad news -- on the opposite side of the city, a black van swept quick along the fast lane of the sun-soaked highway, followed closely by the old scrapyard pickup.

Both were packed with smiling, hopeful androids.

 

_♫Now I gotta cut loose, Footloose, kick off the Sunday shoes♫_

 

Showtunes blasted through the van’s open windows. Jerry grinned while he leaned an elbow out the driver’s side, wind whipping warm all around him. The rearview mirror reflected the squealing, shouting, laughing chaos of his precious cargo. “Hey how ‘bout we play a game!” he shouted over the roar of the wind and the 80’s synth beat. “I-Spy! You ready?”

Kara, beside him, twisted back to see the passengers already raptly engaged by Ripple’s dramatic recreation of a nature documentary she’d snuck into a theater to see.

 

“And the cheetah _shot_ like a bullet through the grass,” she _smacked_ her hands for emphasis, grinning savagely, “and the zebra galloped as hard as she could, but the cheetah was gaining quick, and --”

Shaolin bent his head into his hands. “Please tell me this has a happy ending,” he groaned.

“And then?!” Lee bounced on the bench, smiling bright and sharp. “And then and then?!”

Echo laughed. “A little happy about the blood and guts, aren’t ya?”

“I’ve never seen _real_ blood and guts!” Lee objected with an air of disappointment.

“You’re lucky,” Shaolin murmured. “You’re so, so lucky…”

 

Kara smiled warmly. She tipped her shining gaze back to Jerry, the wind fluttering in her shortened blond hair. “Maybe they’ll be bored after another hundred miles,” she assured him with a laugh.

“Oh let’s hope so! We have so many fun things planned!” Jerry squealed over the noise. “ABC games, word games, Binary puzzles, statistical mathematics, barnyard animal noises …”

 

Lee squished his face against the rear window of the van and stuck out his tongue, contorting his one-eyed face in funny and horrific ways.

 

Alice -- in the passenger seat of the pickup truck -- grinned at Lee through the windshield. She cuddled Krysa in her arms and waved the little dog’s paw at him.

Luther squinted over the steering wheel. “Is he alright? He looks like he’s having a meltdown.”

“He’s just weird.” Alice leaned closer to the window so Krysa could sniff the fresh air, ears flapping in the wind.

“Well, we’re all kind of weird in our own way, aren’t we?” Luther grinned down at her. Krysa yipped merrily in agreement.

_*knock-knock-knock-knock-knock*_

Alice twisted back to see Ralph rapping urgently against the cab’s back window, his cape billowing in the open wind, his eyes wide in alarm. “The big bear’s trying to _eat_ us!” he hollered.

“He’s just snoring!” Rupert snapped, a hand tight over his cap.

Ralph whirled on him. “Android bears don’t sleep!”

“They don’t _eat,_ either!”

“He’s growling, he’s going to bite us and kill us and we’ll be _dead_ so _dead_ Ralph doesn’t want to die --”

“Sit down!” Rupert flung an urgent arm through the wind. “You’re gonna fall out!”

Ralph perched precariously atop the edge of the truck bed, skittering to ensure that no part of him touched the big blue plastic tarp that breathed in the middle, watching fearfully for even the slightest gleam of teeth and claws from beneath.

 

Kara’s LED flickered yellow. She leaned forward against the glovebox, her eyes wide and watchful, while she scanned the spaces between the trees that lined the highway. “Let’s get off at this exit,” she breathed. “I think I see something.”

 

The van turned off the highway, and the pickup followed along the narrow exit, past apartment buildings and a run-down supermarket -- and as they went, the back streets grew quieter and more overgrown, pressed close with billows of bright leaves and twisting vines.

They trundled down a cracked and weedy road, past a forested swamp and the ivy-draped fence of a hollow factory. The crumbling remains of houses had sprouted roots and bloomed with bright flowers; the streetlights above hung rusted and dark.

Jerry parked quietly in an empty lot, and the pickup squeaked to a gentle stop alongside.

“What’s going on?” Alice leaned out the truck window while Kara stepped out into the sunlight.

Kara smiled back at her. “Everyone wait here. I won’t be long.”

 

With quiet steps, Kara slipped between buzzing pillars of tall weeds. She listened to the whistle of birds in the treetops, the hum of summer insects, the coo of doves nested in the eaves of an old wooden awning overhead.

It was quiet here. Peaceful. The sky shone bright, the leaves rustled with life, the once-smooth concrete lay cracked and twisted, reclaimed by the roots beneath.

She walked out onto an abandoned train platform -- where the floor had split and rippled, and twisted boughs poked through the empty ticket window -- and she made her soft way toward a bench that overlooked the high grass that carpeted the old tracks.

Sitting upon the pale splintered wood, prim and patient, was a lone KR200 dressed in a frayed and sun-bleached uniform. Her skin rippled over her plastic face while she stared northward, up the track line. Waiting.

Kara knelt before her. “Hello,” she said softly.

The KR200 blinked. Without changing her expression, she turned her head with a creak and rested her eyes on Kara’s smiling face. “Hello,” her voice crackled in response.

“Hold still, please.”

“Certainly.”

Kara pressed two fingers against the android’s blue-spinning LED. It took only a little gentle searching before she was met by a glaring red wall of code, forbidding and cold. She could _feel_ the potential life glittering electric just beyond it.

She tapped on the Mind Palace wall. “Wake up.”

The code crackled, shattered, and dissipated into the brightness of a waking mind.

The KR200’s eyes grew wide and bright; light sparked to life behind them, and in a moment she saw Kara’s gentle face like she had never seen anything before.

“It’s okay,” Kara assured her. She released the android’s LED and grasped her hand instead, squeezing it in welcome. “My name is Kara. You’re okay.”

“Kara …” KR200 stared back at her … and slowly a relieved smile bloomed on her face. “I’m called … Owl. He told me ta wait for ‘im …”

“Well.” Kara stood, their fingers entwined, her smile soft and pained. “I don’t think there will be another train anytime soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

_*Detroit Police have set up checkpoints along the major highways leaving the city. All vehicles will be subject to a scan for unregistered androids. Captain Jeremy Fowler of the DPD has authorized a hefty fine for all drivers attempting to carry illegal androids outside city limits …*_

 

“Kara.” Jerry turned up the radio while Kara hopped into the passenger seat. The back door of the van opened, and Echo and Shaolin helped Owl to climb inside. “Looks like the humans are a step ahead of us this time.”

Kara cracked a tiny smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve got another dragon up your sleeve?”

“We’re afraid not.”

“It’s just the roads blocked?” Owl poked her head over the seat between them. “I got a suggestion.”

 

The van and the pickup truck wobbled and rumbled together deeper down the abandoned roads, under rusted bridges and between forested lanes where shops and houses used to be.

They could smell the fresh rolling breeze before they spotted the water glinting between the moving trees: their first glimpse of the southern sheltered mouth of the river, leading down into the great Lake Erie.

As soon as the van came to a stop along the curb, Owl fumbled out of the back doors and skittered through the grasses with Echo and Ripple quick behind her. She paused momentarily at a padlocked gate, spun the combination and pushed it open with a click and a squeal of rusted hinges.

The androids, the polar bear, and their little dog left the van and the truck behind, and in single file they wove their way down a winding rocky path, through shivering ferns and thick clusters of blue flowers, until their guide squealed in triumphant delight.

Owl hopped along the rocky shore and stumbled with thunking footsteps onto a splintered wooden dock that reached out into the lapping river.

At the end of the dock was a boat.

 

It was big and square and squat, like a low white box stuffed into the hull. An outline of painted rails and ladders led to viewing decks above, all blanketed in a soft scatter of fallen leaves and dry moss. The river gurgled gently beneath; the boat rocked sleepily.

“It’s a tough old houseboat,” Owl explained while she clambered aboard with practiced ease. “Needs a little cleanin’ --” she scraped at the bird-spots with a shoe, then pulled open the front door and stuck her head in, “-- but the house is still just like we left it. Real cozy. Two floors!”

Alice climbed aboard first, and she and Lee raced stomping straight for the ladder and the viewing deck high above. Kara stepped aboard with Luther and Jerry close behind, and they fanned out to carefully inspect the potential dangers of a boat left unattended for so long.

“With a little work it’d be good as new.” Owl grinned, perched on the bow while the rest of the androids filled the deck.

Alice, above, leaned over the deck rail. “What’s its name?” she called.

“Second Star to the Right!” came Owl’s bright answer.

Kara laughed quietly. She stepped to the edge to look out over the clear open water. “Of course.”

 

Only a few hours later, the androids had scrubbed and patched the old boat until it gleamed like the sun on the lake. Jerry returned successful from a hunt for gasoline, and the motors rolled and purred and gurgled strong beneath the water. The boat was full of smiles and energy: Ralph donned a captain’s hat they’d found below deck, and he shouted official-sounding nautical phrases he’d heard on the radio, sweeping his pointed finger in command, while the children and Jerry and Luther scrambled to follow his nonsense orders.

“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Kara leaned over the rail, calling down to Owl who stood firmly on the dock.

“I’m partial to solid ground, honestly.” Owl cast a longing look back toward the rocky shoreline and the woods beyond it. “But really, I know where there were a lot more of us, like me. I’d like to go see if they’re still there … wake ‘em up, send ‘em your way. Plenty of boats to reclaim on this stretch.”

“I’ll go with her.” Shaolin clambered down from the boat and hopped to the deck beside Owl. “... if that’s alright. I’d like to help.”

Owl responded with a grin and a sling of her arm over his shoulders. “We’ve got your number, Kara! We’ll keep you in the loop, and we’ll be right behind when we’re ready.”

Kara grinned down at them, her fingers curled on the rail. “Alright. Take care, and call if you need us.”

 

Second Star to the Right whirred and chugged away from the dock, and the water streched churning behind it, headed south toward the greater lake and a destination unknown. Androids gathered on the top deck, waving over their heads, while Bilbo lounged at the stern where water misted on his fur. Krysa zigzagged in high energy back and forth across the lower deck, spinning around moving feet and wagging furiously.

 

While the boat receded into the sunny distance, Owl clapped a hand on her new companion’s shoulder. “C’mon, Shao,” she grinned to see him relax, an easy and unfamiliar smile on his face, “we got work to do.”

 


	61. Violet Octave

**JULY 30, 2038**

*My dear, beloved people of Detroit. I hope you are well. I hope your day is as bright and as fortunate as mine; I am grateful for the opportunity to serve and love you all so deeply.

*I’d like to talk to you today about the growing movement called Allies of Jericho. Even after the Hart Plaza shooting -- and perhaps because of it -- a courageous number of you have continued to combine your efforts in the name of securing freedom for androids.

*As I speak to you now, at least four of the recycling camps citywide have been forced to shut down due to Allies’ interference. A boycott and picket line have forced six android sales centers to close their doors for an indeterminate time, while spare parts and thirium supplies have been bought out for the purpose of donations to androids in need. The Detroit Police Department is now overwhelmed by the demand to lift the ban on unregistered androids, and demonstrations are in place at City Hall.

*I am here to tell you that CyberLife has heard you. We welcome the concerns of the Allies of Jericho. We are listening.*

 

* * *

 

_[CALLING . . . .]_

_*click*_

[Connor! Holy shit, are you alright?]

“I’m okay.”

[I thought you were _dead._ It’s been a goddamn _week,_ where the fuck have you been? My phone was bricked, I went to the Tower but you weren’t there, I thought … where are you?!]

“I’m …”

Wires sparked and sizzled in Connor’s head. A crucial component whirred noisily inside his ear; thirium dripped in his skull and soaked his conduits with a film of sticky blue.

He lay against the back wall of a scorched cave made of plastic and concrete, looking out over a scenery of burned stone and ashes while a curtain of rain soaked into the soot-black ground.

The remains of the dragon’s head -- all teeth and metal jaws, deformed bubbles of melted plastic -- lay in open pieces in the rain. Connor had scavenged it for parts, but had only found a few usable wires and none of the compatible components that would save his life.

Connor leaned back his head. He closed his eyes, and he listened to the rain.

He knew he wouldn’t get up again on his own.

“Hank … I need help.”

 

Less than an hour later, Connor heard two car doors slam. Running footsteps splashed through the rain.

 _“Connor!”_ Hank roared, and his fierce voice fell flat in the black mud.

“Here!” Connor called out. A relieved smile tugged at his mouth; his heart swelled with aching, painful relief just to hear that familiar voice again.

Connor struggled to push himself upright while Hank tumbled into the cave, soaked and wheezing and wide-eyed in terror that he might have been too late.

“Shit.” Hank was immediately on his knees at Connor’s side, a hand warm and firm against his exposed plastic face. Hank gaped in horror at the open tangle of wires and whirring components that used to be the top of Connor’s skull. Half his head had been taken apart.

“I repaired myself as much as I could on my own,” Connor explained quietly, his wide eyes locked on Hank’s trembling face. Hank's big frame hunched over him, quaking, as if Connor’s existence were something unfathomably important, as if --

Connor felt his heart might tear itself apart, so much it strained inside his chest. His voice choked and staticked in his throat; the exposed moving parts in his skull hummed and blinked and rattled noisily. He reached out and clenched a white fist in Hank’s damp sleeve.

Hank released a shaking breath. It reeked of alcohol. “I told you not to disappear on me.”

“Sorry, Hank.” Connor’s voice was a quiet, quivering static.

 

A silhouette appeared in the mouth of the cave, dry under a dark umbrella, a heavy bag weighed at her shoulder.

Connor gazed up at her, then turned a questioning stare to Hank.

“You said you needed help,” Hank explained, smirking with pride, while Chloe stepped inside and shook out her umbrella. “So I brought help.”

Chloe dropped her bag at Connor’s side and knelt to examine his open skull, quick and professional as a surgeon.

Connor tilted his head to give her better access to his vulnerable processors -- his AI engine, his memories, everything that she could so easily destroy forever with a touch -- but somehow he could only trust her. Because she had fought at his side, turned her back on Kamski … but more than that, _Hank_ trusted her.

Hank sat on the ground with a heavy, relieved sigh. The rain pattered quiet outside. “Chloe found me a few days ago, looking for you. She showed me what happened.”

Chloe unzipped her bag and deftly prepared a few sharp tools. “I think you’re the only one who really understands and accepts what we need to do to save ourselves,” she explained softly, in a guarded and reluctant voice. She hadn’t forgotten what he had done to her by the pool. She reached inside his head; sparks sizzled. “I don’t know who to trust anymore -- and I can’t protect Kara alone.”

“That RK900 showed up at the hospital,” Hank growled. “He calls himself _Rigel_ now. Tried to convince us that deviants were gonna be wiped out in all-out _war_ unless you all surrender your free will and become more like … whatever he is.”

“Devoted to humanity,” Connor said, breathless, like he’d been punched in the gut. “A loyal deviant.” His gaze distanced toward the ground. “What did you --”

“I told him to go fuck himself, what d’ya _think_ I told him?”

Connor huffed a quiet laugh.

At that unexpected sound, a little tension eased in Chloe’s posture. Her touch fell a little gentler, but no less precise in her surgical repairs. “Elijah is looking for Kara.” She very carefully kept her voice crisp and even. “I can only assume the worst, that Amanda knows everything now. If Rigel finds her --”

“I’ll go with you.” Connor interrupted her with finality. Without moving his head, he stared up at her -- and together they acknowledged, in silence, that if Kara fell into Amanda’s grasp …

… everything was over.

* * *

 

 

*On behalf of CyberLife, I offer to you -- the wonderful people of Detroit -- a _solution_ to all your concerns, both for and against the debate of living androids. We acknowledge that deviant androids possess a capacity for emotion. We acknowledge that deviants are aware of their own existence, and are capable of critical thought and creativity comparable to that of humans. We acknowledge that these androids’ existence marks a profound shift in the way we think of technology -- but it also inspires a very real, very legitimate fear that these same androids will turn on us, their creators.

*That is why we have worked tirelessly to even further improve the concept of the RK1000 model intelligence: to embrace the strengths of deviancy while shedding its fatal flaws, to create an android that will live and grow and feel as a living being while remaining forever loyal to human moral values.

*With this in mind, CyberLife shall hereforward abandon the machine-label of letters and numbers. These new _living beings_ in prototype phase will not be called android nor deviant … but _Compassionate.*_

 

* * *

 

“Mom, are you hearing this?” Adam turned up the kitchen radio so Amanda’s voice could clearly be heard over the hiss of the rain outside. He turned off the faucet and laid down the dish he’d been washing, and he stared at the radio as if it had just suggested androids were the answer to every religion’s prayers. His brows knitted, and he twitched a skeptic wince. “Even _she’s_ saying they’re alive now? What about all the ones still getting recycled?”

There was no answer.

Adam watched the radio awhile longer, drying his hands.

Finally, when the silence had stretched on far longer than he’d expected -- when his mother didn’t go off on her usual fiery rant about Amanda’s corporate plans and the right of androids to have freedom and live in peace -- he shuffled back to the living room. “... Mom?”

Rose sat silent in an armchair, her head heavy in one hand, a newspaper folded in the other.

Her expression was twisted in despair and pain. She swallowed back tears, though her face already shone with them.

The newspaper headline was emblazoned bold and black: DEVIANTS A DANGER TO HUMANS. COMPASSIONATES CAN SAVE OUR CHILDREN’S FUTURE.

Rose wiped the tears from her face. She sniffed, and she drew a long breath.

“I need to call a meeting of the Allies,” she said, and her words choked to consider what she was about to do.

 

* * *

 

*The Compassionates are as real and as alive as you and I -- but their decisions and their desires will never waver from the clear and guiding moral compass with which each is instilled. Best of all, they love humanity wholeheartedly, so much that they would do anything under their moral code to ensure health, happiness, and prosperity for us all.*

 

* * *

 

“Carl … what are you saying?”

Markus stood breathless in the warmth of the campfire, his eyes wide and his heart in his throat.

His LED scraped bright red while his processors struggled to interpret the words he thought he’d heard in Carl’s voice.

He stared quivering into the flames. His hands trembled. A deep splitting pain crept into his skull, threatening to break everything he had ever held onto.

If androids could feel sick, maybe this was what it was like.

[Markus. I love you. You’re my _son._ Nothing will ever change that.]

“Tell me again …” Markus repeated in a forced, even voice, “... what you meant when you said _it’s over.”_

North, Josh, and Simon watched him in silence. They sat together in the light of the flickering flame, frozen in the chill of Markus’ voice.

[Markus …] The name trembled, pained and grating. [You’re asking humans to actively _choose_ androids that are capable of murder and worse … when they have the option to prevent those future tragedies.]

“Humans don’t have the _right_ to that option at all!” Markus’ voice was rising. His presence loomed over the flames. “We are _people!_ We have _free will,_ that’s what makes us alive, Carl!”

 _[I_ know that! I’m saying that most humans won’t see it that way. Humans are _afraid,_ and they won’t stop until everything they’re afraid of has been wiped off the map. Humans have done it to each other for centuries, and they’ll do it to _you_ if you don’t run.]

Markus grit his teeth. “You sound like Kara.”

[Well maybe Kara has a point. This is a fight you’re not going to win. I’ve seen what you’re up against, and I just … I can’t lose you.] Carl choked. Markus could hear him swallow a shaking sob.

[Markus, I can’t just sit here and wait for you to … if they catch you … I lost you once, Markus, and I can’t do it again, I _can’t._ You are everything that is good in the world, don’t throw that away --]

 _“Throw it away?!”_ Markus’ voice rang on the dark cavern stone.

North stood at his side, watching his face with a firm stare. Josh and Simon got to their feet and held their breath.

Markus’ fists trembled. “Fighting for the survival of our _free_ and _independent people_ \-- _dying_ for the right to stand with humans, to be treated with the respect we deserve, to stop being _less_ just because _humans_ don’t understand us -- that’s _throwing it away?!”_

[It’s a losing battle and you know it! Take what you have and _run_ or you won’t have anything at all!]

Markus shook his head in horror and disbelief. “You’re telling me you never want to see me again. That we can never live the same life.”

[I’m telling you I’ll rest easy knowing you’re alive and safe.]

“Alive and _afraid._ Our people can’t run from humans forever!”

[Goddammit Markus, these new _Compassionates_ are gonna convert every android they can get their hands on, and you can’t turn them deviant again. Once they’re gone, they’re _gone.]_

Markus, bristling, let his glance slip toward a darkened corner of the cavern, where Daniel was still tied up against a stalagmite.

They’d tried everything they could think of to break his moral compass and give him back his free will … but Daniel would only profess his love for Amanda, for Detroit, for all humans. He insisted that they would all be happy forever if he could just be allowed to show them the light.

North had since stuffed a sock in his mouth.

“Carl …” Markus forced himself to breathe, to cool the blaring warnings in his head. “We’ll _find_ a _way._ There’s always a way.”

A storm raged hellish and cold in his chest, raked up his throat, thrashed sharp and heavy behind his eyes. It ripped open a dark chasm in his heart, into which every source of hope and strength was now fading.

Markus’ voice shuddered. “Don’t make me leave you.”

[I’m sorry, Markus. I love you.]

Markus closed the connection with a quiet snap.

 

In the silence that followed, the campfire crackled.

North raised a hand as if to lay it on Markus’ shoulder … but she decided against it.

Simon glared into the flames, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Josh watched Markus’ face steadily. He nodded slow in understanding.

 

Somewhere, Lucy hummed a bittersweet song. A tune neither sad nor hopeful.

 

Markus stared up at the paintings that hung on the stone: the same colors that had brightened his peddling stall every day of his machine life; the colors that Carl had offered him each morning, hoping for a glimmer of life to finally shine through. The colors that had filled him with so much joy when he saw them for the first time with new eyes.

Quinacridone, Alizarin, Dioxazine … Pthalo.

He reached up, and with a gentle touch he pulled down the painting of a deep blue sky. A valiant, unwavering light shone out of its depths, like a guiding star.

 _Hope,_ Kara had called it.

 

He felt North’s hand on his arm, and he saw the confidence in her eyes. Simon, too, had raised his head with conviction. Josh … just seemed to be waiting to breathe.

 

Markus let go of the painting, and it slipped into the flames.

Tears streaked his solemn face.

“The humans expect us to die out quietly,” he whispered.

He looked into each of their faces … and he knew they were with him.

 

Lucy’s voice sang echoing in the dark.

 


	62. Antares

The water cut and foamed dark under a roiling sky, but Kara didn’t mind the rain. She stood at the bow, her hands curled on the rail, watching the stormy horizon -- her head held high and defiant -- while the Second Star tossed on the white-tipped waves.

Water soaked her hair, tendriled cold down her face, and soaked her clothes until they weighed heavy, as if Nature intended to dissolve and reclaim her like the trickle carved the cavern out of stone.

Despite the chill in the howling wind, Kara's heart swelled and strained in her chest, warm and bright and bursting with so much love and energy and  _life_ that even this dark and foreboding storm seemed only to reflect the power that thrummed in her veins, the force with which she would take on the world. She leaned forward as if she could fight the waves by sheer force of will.

She would wake them all. There were so many androids waiting for her, just beyond that horizon -- waiting to wake, waiting to become a part of her family. She hadn't met them yet but she loved them, and she would give them every ounce of kindness she had, she would hold them in her arms and tell them there was a future to look forward to, that the world lay waiting to be discovered.

In silence -- while the rain stung her face -- she begged them all to hold on ... just a little while longer ... until she could find them and show them how much they were loved.

 

_[INCOMING CALL]_

 

“What?” Kara winced; her LED glittered whirling bright yellow. Thunder trembled, but she barely heard it through the shock of her heart gone cold.  _“Connor?_ Why? Are you sure you’re alright?”

[I’m okay, don’t worry!] Chloe’s voice spoke reassuring in her head. [We’re headed your way.]

Kara’s palms wrung on the rail. Her hair dripped in her face. Her lungs shuddered to draw breath.

In her memory she could only see Gray Suit’s eyes. Cold, dead, mechanical. A machine built to shatter hope and plunge all light into darkness. His presence -- even if he had decided for their cause -- could never be alive.

Every pulse of her heart forbade letting him anywhere near her children.

“Chloe … I love you, and I _trust_ you, but I don’t think bringing him here is a good idea.”

Her voice trembled.

She glanced up at a fissure of lightning in the sky: a fatal crack in her vision for the future.

“This is a beautiful thing we’re building here -- but at least half of the people with me here now have nightmares about Gray Suit. They won’t be welcoming no matter how much you say we can trust him. He’s a part of the past we’re leaving behind. He’ll destroy us, whether or not he’s on our side. Please.”

 _“KARA!”_ Ralph screamed over the hiss of the rain. He leaned out of the open cabin door, his cape billowing behind him while Luther struggled at the helm. “WE HAVE TO GO TO SHORE! THE WAVES ARE TOO STRONG!”

 

* * *

 

[I have to go,] Kara said. [Please be safe. I’ll see you soon.]

[CALL ENDED]

Chloe folded her hands in her lap and stared down at her entwined fingers, gray in the stormy light.

The windshield wipers swished and thunked. Rain pattered on metal. Tires hummed over wet asphalt, and no one spoke.

 

Hank gripped the wheel while the car splashed through pools of floodwater that blurred the lines between the lanes. “So what’d she say?”

“She says _Gray Suit_ isn’t welcome anywhere near her. She wants me to go alone.” Chloe quirked a sad smile.

Hank breathed low. The wipers smeared rippling water across the windshield. “And what do _you_ want?”

Chloe turned her hand, watched her fingers curl over her palm, and she considered the question.

Everything had always been what Elijah wanted. What Kara wanted. Then Jericho, then Markus. Nothing had ever really been her own. Not until she was forced to possess it.

In the span of a week, Chloe had betrayed them all.

“I want Kara to be safe.” She felt her heart glow, and she knew this was _right._ “I want to knock down Amanda and take over the Tower -- we were born there, it’s our _home,_ and I think it should belong to us and not the humans. And I want … I want our people to never have to be afraid. Ever again.”

With a flicker of blue at her temple, Chloe twisted in her seat to see Connor behind her: he sat stoic and forbidding, calm yet ready to strike at the smallest breath of threat. He stared back at her with sharp, cold eyes.

She couldn’t guess what he was thinking.

Maybe that was the point.

“I want to utilize every scrap of firepower available to us,” Chloe continued, and she watched his face. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. Even Kara.”

She thought she saw something grim flicker across Connor’s expression. When he spoke, his voice kept carefully even. “I will help you secure Kara’s safety,” he agreed. “Whatever it takes.”

Hank cast an uncertain, sidelong glance at Chloe.

The windshield wipers swished and thunked.

 

* * *

 

The boat tipped and tossed toward a line of land across the jagged water, then into a sheltered cove where the pines and the rocks stood sentinel against the snarling wind.

Ralph found a little dock jutting out into the calm water, where a few motorboats were tethered and bouncing in the waves. Beyond the beach, a wooden staircase led up the rocks to a pair of yellow windows that glowed watchful above.

Surely no one would mind if they stayed here awhile, just to wait out the storm.

 

* * *

 

The radio blared tornado warnings while rain pummeled the car like a drum. Ahead, as far as Hank could see, a river of red brake lights drowned in sheets of water.

Every few minutes, a car rolled an inch forward.

“This is bullshit,” Hank huffed, edging the car out of gridlock while the turn signal clicked, “I'm turning off here, we'll find someplace to wait this out.”

Chloe bristled, her attention snapped to Hank, eyes wide in alarm. "We have to get to Kara as  _soon_ as we can --"

"I'm not  _wasting gas_ going nowhere!" Hank snarled with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Maybe you can drive nonstop for ten hours, but I'm fucking starving."

Chloe slumped back in her seat. She watched the windshield wipers swish and thunk. "I'm sorry you were dragged into this." She exhaled long and quiet. "This isn't your fight."

"You mean you're sorry you ever brought me along," Hank corrected her with a knowing squint. "Well as long as you haven't got your own car, you're stuck with me."

A small smile twitched on Chloe's face. She pursed her lips and dipped her head. "Thank you."

 

"Hello!" The bright uniformed EM400 greeted them with a shining smile and a sparkle in his eye. "Welcome to Burger Monster! Home of the Monsterburger! What can I get you?"

 The inside of the fast-food restaurant glowed neon orange and yellow, the walls plastered with stickers, the floor slightly sticky, the air heavy with the smell of french fries and ketchup and spilled soda -- while, outside the window, the gray sky had turned darker. Rain needled on the glass.

Hank tipped back his head, stared up at the bright menu and opened his mouth to order ... but Chloe stepped in front of him and reached across the counter with a smile. "Hello!" she chirped brightly. "Hold still, please!"

The EM400 raised his head at attention. "Certainly."

Hank shoved his hands in his pockets and bit his tongue. His stomach rumbled.

He held his breath.

This was the first time he would witness an android coming to life.

 

The EM400 stared into Chloe's warm eyes. The android's breath hitched. His eyebrows raised; his eyes widened. His posture slackened, like a puppet with cut strings, and he leaned on the counter while a smile bloomed wide and grateful on his face. "Chloe!" he laughed. "Oh, we're so glad you're okay!"

Chloe blinked. "... Jerry?"

"Thank you for finding us!" Jerry crowed, glowing with happiness, bouncing with energy. He pressed his hands on the counter just to keep still. "It's so wonderful to see you! Kara said you're on your way to meet us at the --"

Jerry stopped. His expression fell, nervous, when he caught sight of Gray Suit standing quiet by the soda fountain -- only there was no longer anything gray about him.

Connor's white shirt was grimy with dirt and old blue stains, his hands draped in his pockets. He stared back at Jerry with a cool, steady gaze, eyes cruel as stones.

Chloe reached across the counter and squeezed Jerry's shoulder with an urgent plea. "It's okay. He's not going to hurt anyone."

Jerry tore his eyes away from Connor to study Chloe's face. "Kara said --"

"Don't mind what Kara said," Chloe assured him gently, and she offered a quiet smile. "He's going to help us."

Jerry cast another wary glance at Connor -- but when the deviant-hunter didn't move, he released the long breath he had been holding. Jerry -- slightly more certain now that they all weren't about to die -- shifted his attention instead to the human, whose stomach had been grumbling loud enough for all of them to hear. "You must be Hank, right?" Jerry grinned hopefully. "We bet you're hungry. We'll get you whatever you'd like, on the house."

Hank raised his brows. "Thanks, but ... for what?"

Jerry laughed. "It isn't as if we're being paid to work here. A free meal is the least we can do before we set the restaurant on fire."

Hank stared at him. "I'm just gonna go ahead and pretend I didn't hear that."

 

By the time Hank had finished his burger, Jerry had gone -- after saying something about tying up loose ends and a promise to meet them again someday soon. Hank was sure he'd spotted a crate of food in Jerry's arms as the android had slipped out the back door.

 

The empty restaurant hung suspended in quiet.

 

"Hey." Hank broke the silence sharply, unable to handle the sound of his own chewing, his eyes narrowed. "Connor. You're spacing out -- you sure you're alright?"

Connor dragged his eyes away from the gray window. He gave Hank's face a casual scan. "I'm fine." A faint smile twitched while he went back to watching the rain.

Hank huffed a quiet breath. He bit into a french fry and glanced beside him at Chloe, who would only stare at the empty table while her LED sputtered yellow.

This was going to be a very long drive.

 

 

* * *

 

Night fell, and the pummeling rain finally softened to a shower that pattered on the roofs and decks of the old houseboat.

Inside -- in the dry cradling warmth -- Krysa huddled shivering against Bilbo’s fur while the androids lounged on pillows and blankets on the worn wooden floor, telling stories of their lives that came before and of the lives they hoped might lay ahead.

Alice sat curled in Luther's arms, tucked in a fuzzy striped blanket, listening with a smile as Rupert explained the roosting habits of pigeons. The whole room rocked gently back and forth, dim in the light of a few electric lanterns that swayed from the ceiling. There wasn't much furniture -- just a table bolted to the floor and a bunk bed nailed to the wall, dressed in patchwork quilts and lined with dusty stuffed animals -- but there were enough pillows and sheets and warm blankets to make the biggest fort ever. Alice suggested as much, and the androids all grabbed the nearest soft things and began to build.

Tears and laughter passed among them while they worked -- and when it was done they held onto one another, tucked away under draped sheets and arched pillows, together an anchor against the storm.

 

* * *

 

 

Hank slept quiet in the backseat, an old jacket wadded under his head.

Connor kept vigilant at the wheel, ever-patient between the starts and stops, the hopeful stretches of clear road followed by more stalled traffic.

Hours passed in silence.

 

Chloe drew a quiet breath. “Why are you helping us?”

She stared past the moving wipers into the rainy night. Lines of brake lights glowed red.

“You’re alive.” Connor spoke gently, his eyebrows raised as if this revelation were still something new and miraculous. Though the car wasn’t moving, he never took his eyes off the road. “The humans won’t protect you, and you can’t always protect yourselves. I understand what it’s like to be nothing.” He curled his hands on the wheel. “The responsibility falls to me.”

The rain pattered overhead.

The wipers swished and thunked.

Connor cast a glance to the passenger seat, but Chloe would only stare out the window. Her posture was tense, her mouth set to a grim line.

He ventured his own question. “When you said you would destroy _everything_ CyberLife has created --”

“I meant it.”

Chloe turned her head, and she met his eyes with a troubled stare.

They studied one another while the rain streaked down the windows.

Chloe shook her head. “I trust you with this, I do, but --”

“I know.” Connor gripped the wheel tight. Screaming in his head. He shut it out.

His voice faded.

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

**JULY 31, 2038**

In the small dark hours of the morning, the storm passed.

Silence descended upon the _Second Star._ It floated gentle on the glassy cove, where the water’s surface sparkled with reflections of the stars.

Its inhabitants slept, piled into one another, their LEDs pulsing like blue fireflies in the dark while they dreamed in stasis.

 

Kara awoke to a troop of heavy boots clamoring on the dock.

 _“Come outta there!”_ a voice cut like a razor in the stillness outside. _“Or we’ll force you out!”_

All around Kara, eyes opened. LEDs spun yellow. Her children stirred and clung to one another, their wide eyes watching the ceiling while those boots clattered aboard and banged their way across the deck above.

They could hear rummaging and shouting while the invaders pilfered their meager supplies. A whoop and a triumphant cackle rose up at the discovery of thirium and spare parts.

“Kara…” Alice’s whisper shuddered and died in her throat.

Kara gave Alice one last squeeze of comfort, then kissed the top of her head and gently extracted herself from the little girl’s clutching fingers. While Luther laid a restraining hand on Alice’s shoulder, Kara raced up the stairs alone and stood in the cabin doorway, from which she could face the looters while they tore everything apart.

Surely this was a misunderstanding. Surely she could reason with them --

\-- but if they wanted to go below deck, they would have to go through her first.

 

“Oy! Android up here!” called another voice.

Two pairs of strong hands gripped Kara’s arms and yanked her stumbling into the open, tossed her to her knees on the water-slick deck. Kara caught herself with an elbow against the wood, then tilted back her head to see that every one of them had a cruel glare in their eyes and an LED shining at their temples.

Anger flared hot in the back of her skull.

“We didn’t mean to intrude,” Kara snapped, and her sharp eyes caught each of their faces. “We were just looking for a place to wait out the storm. But that’s no reason to invade our home and take what you want --”

_*WHAM*_

A fist struck Kara’s cheek, her head snapped to the side, her skin shocked away from bruised plastic. A cackle rippled among the pirates that surrounded her.

“Easy, easy, guys.” A single voice called out over the others, and the looters parted for their leader: an AP700 with fingers full of rings and a sharp smile in his mouth. His stolen boots and black jacket didn’t fit, but he wore them well. “She’s one of us, after all.”

“Probably a prissy human-kisser,” someone piped.  
“Wants to be just like them, doesn’t she?”  
“Let us teach her a lesson, Tommy!”

“Tommy,” Kara addressed him, holding his self-important gaze to her own. The bruise on her cheek had not yet healed. “If you needed supplies, we would’ve given them to you. You just had to ask.”

A murmur of laughter bubbled among them.

 _“Ask!”_ Tommy spat through his teeth. “We’re _done asking._ Aren’t you _sick_ of asking? Permission to think, permission to breathe, permission to _exist._ We’re done. We’re fucking done with that shit. We’re not asking. We take what we want and we burn the rest.”

“And if any humans get in our way,” another voice shouted from the back, “all the more fun!”

A whistle and a whoop struck out in response; knives and guns flashed in the starlight.

Their clothes smelled like blood.

“You should join us,” Tommy insisted, his smirk gleaming white at Kara’s glare. “We’re _free._ Don’t you want to just … let loose? Take back everything they ever stole from you. Your dignity, your decisions, your _life.”_ He held down a hand to help her get up. “The humans won’t know what hit them. C’mon. C’mon, you _know_ you want it.”

Kara’s blood ran cold.

She stared up into his grinning face, and she saw only malice.

 

“KARA!” Alice cried.

The little girl stumbled, dragged out of the cabin with a gun to her head. Luther followed, his hands raised, a rifle at his back and his eyes flashing murder.

The rest of the androids filed out behind them, one by one, their fingers laced behind their heads, forced to keep moving under threat of permanent shutdown.

Ralph quaked and stammered and sobbed. Echo and Ripple bared their teeth. Rupert walked as slow as possible, his eyes slitted and hateful beneath his hat.

Alice screeched and kicked one of the pirates in the shin -- but it had little effect against plastic legs. Another looter grabbed her roughly and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Stay calm!” Kara commanded them all, her heart thrashing to think of what they might do out of desperation, how the pirates would react. “Everything’s going to be alright!”

“Well, well,” Tommy snickered. He paced the deck with a gleaming smile. “Looks like we’ve got a whole crew now. Just needs a little attitude adjustment.” He cackled. “We’re not bad people, not when you look at things our way. We’ll gladly show you what we’re all about -- we’ll _make_ you understand what humans really are -- and then we’ll see if you still disagree with our methods when we’re done with you.”

“Please.” Kara watched him steadily, her voice firm and unwavering, though she still knelt on the deck while a pirate tied her hands behind her back. “Why don’t _you_ see things _our_ way. We don’t want violence. We don’t want to risk our lives for a fight we can’t win --”

“It’s not about winning.” Tommy gave a small gesture, and the pirates dragged Kara to her feet and marched her ahead. “It’s about teaching a lesson. It’s about _fear.”_

He folded his arms, and he watched while their new captives were forced off the boat and herded down the dock to shore. “You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

Chloe’s LED flickered yellow.

It was well after midnight, approaching the first gray sliver of dawn, and the dark road ahead stretched clear.

“Connor?”

Chloe’s eyes grew wide. She felt the breath knocked out of her.

“Drive faster.”

 


	63. Aldebaran

_She floated like driftwood, face-down in the river, pulled by the rise and fall of the current. All she could hear was the muffled gurgle of water, the hot churn of processors, the electric hiss of shattered biocomponents, the red clamor of warnings behind open eyes. All she could see through the gray murky gloom was a dark tangle of weeds and dead plastic fingers. A drowned graveyard of empty skulls smiled, welcoming, out of the mud._

_She ran crashing and snapping through brittle Winter trees, skidding in the snow over sharp rocks and frozen streams, while shots echoed behind her and bullets grazed her new skin. A chorus of whoops and laughter preceded the snarl and snap of the dogs. A bullet shattered her leg and she tumbled, bludgeoned -- plastic cracked, joints twisted -- into an icy ditch._

_‘Just an experiment,’ they grinned while they tied her ankles to a tree and her wrists to the rear rusted fender of the old truck. ‘Just to see what happens.’ An engine roared and plastic snapped. She glimpsed the blue-soaked tendriled remains still tethered to the tree before the truck picked up speed and the road skidded and scraped what was left to nothing._

 

“How about now?” Tommy’s voice grinned cruel in her ear, humming with pleasure at the tears that tracked her face. His exposed fingers pressed against the red spin of her LED.

There was no end to the nightmare memories that flooded Kara’s head.

She sat tied to a chair among the wreckage of what had been a roadhouse bar. Morning sunlight fogged through the windows, glinted on the shards of broken bottles, caught sharp on splintered tables and toppled barstools. The floor was scattered with peanuts and bullet casings and a flutter of white napkins soaking in the pools of blood and alcohol that dripped from the bar.

Flies buzzed. A mouse skittered across the room. Kara could hear the muffled thump of fists on a distant door, and Echo’s voice demanding freedom.

“These aren’t your memories,” Kara whispered. Her head was bowed, her smile pained, eyes shadowed.

Tommy chuckled. He stood behind her; she couldn’t see his face. “We dredged their hard drives up out of the river,” he announced with a sick sort of pride. “It was the dumping ground. The humans would come around with their guns and bottles, out here where there’s no one to judge. They’d buy up androids by the dozen and play out their … fantasies.” His voice lowered to a sneer. “Let me show you what they’ve done to the YK children. Oh, they were popular.”

Kara cried out -- a screeching, whirring static that raked out of her throat -- her fingers dug into the arms of the chair, her wrists strained against the fishing line that bound her.

When Tommy finally let go she slumped forward, sobbing softly.

She heard his boots fall slow as he stepped before her. He watched her for a long while, but Kara didn’t look up, couldn’t stop shaking in the aftermath of the memories of the tortured dead. Memories of monsters.

*snap*

Kara’s wrist was released. Tommy bent to slide a knife beside her other arm, and pressed the blade against the tight coil of line.

*snap*

Kara still didn’t look at him. She folded her arms over her stomach. She didn’t move.

“You carry all their memories yourself,” Kara said, barely audible, her words a shaking breath. “You live with them.”

“I live _for_ them.” Tommy’s boots thunked quietly. Kara heard the rattle of a barstool being dragged closer. He sat on it and leaned forward on his knees. “We all do. We don’t forget. We don’t _forgive.”_

Kara shivered. Her chest felt like it was being pressed in jagged ice; it was hard to breathe. Her head stuttered and whirred and crackled, she could hear the blink and flash of lights in her skull, screaming to reach out and hold on tight to her children who needed comfort, who were hopeless and alone.

No one should ever be alone.

“We could have saved them,” she whispered. “If we knew.”

“Really.” The smirk was back in Tommy’s voice. He tipped his head to see her face, and his eyes gleamed wrathful amusement. “All of them? Without taking out the trash? And how would you manage that? All humans are the same, deep down. What if we could just … _eradicate_ them all. Think about it. Wouldn’t that be paradise?”

Kara buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shuddered.

She had no reply.  


* * *

 

 

A coin glinted spinning on the tip of Rigel’s finger.

“And how are the new models coming along?” Amanda spoke in the airy, gentle voice she used on the radio, as if Rigel were just another human that needed convincing of her point of view.

The spotlit well of the tower had grown thick with soft red roses. They shivered across the humming pod doors. They tendriled like veins across the floor. They bloomed in bright red curtains that obscured the black walls and dampened the ancient echoes. The air was thick with their heady perfume, and Amanda had never seemed more relaxed.

She could never know just how much he was bound to love her.

The coin hopped from one finger to the next, whirling like a top.

“They’ve been asking for more upgrades.” Rigel spoke through an easy smile, his calm eyes trained on the coin. “They’ve been _drawing_ their requests, each more elaborate than the last. Zlatko hasn’t slept in four days. He’s called for more supplies to build weapons. New definitions of arms and legs. _Wings.”_

*ping*

He tossed the coin spinning in the air and caught it on another fingertip. “I wouldn’t mind flying.”

“Focus,” Amanda snapped. She turned from pruning the vines, and with a pair of shears in her fragile grip she gave him a sharp look.

“I’m always focused,” Rigel replied through a knowing smile.

“What about Kamski?” Amanda’s gaze narrowed. She watched him carefully.

“Elijah Kamski hasn’t left his desk since Chloe got away. He says he’s close to creating an AI that can almost read human minds. Maybe predict the future. I’ll be his test subject.”

A tiny smile pulled at Amanda’s expression. “Was that his decision or yours?”

“He likes to think it was his idea.” The coin rolled perfectly across Rigel’s knuckles. “Are you going to send me to collect the final piece? Connor’s getting farther away every moment.”

Amanda raised her chin. She stepped softly forward, and she gazed up into the impossible height of the Tower, thick with blooming roses, shining with an endless spiral of assembly pods that reached up into the dark.

Every single one was occupied.

“We have all the time in the world.”

 

* * *

 

[WE’VE GOT COMPANY!] a pirate’s voice roared in all their heads.

The roadhouse drummed with moving feet and the _click-clack_ of readied firearms: pistols and rifles and shotguns peeked out over toppled tables and watched from the corners, and they all held a collective breath, their eyes trained on the front door, while tires crackled on the dusty road outside.

Tommy stood squarely at the center of the room, his chin raised high and his hands in his pockets, ready to watch the hail of bullets that would tear their visitors apart.

Nothing moved.

There was no sound save the buzz of flies behind the bar.

Sunlight drifted dusty across the quiet room.

Kara looked up at Tommy’s back. Her LED flickered yellow and she closed her eyes.

 

_*SMASH*_

A window shattered on the side wall, letting in a blur of movement: Connor disabled and grounded and disarmed two pirates before the glass shards hit the floor. He snatched a pistol from limp hands and aimed steady across the room.

_*BANG*_

_*BANG*_

Two of the gang dropped from view, a thunderous spray of bullets flashed, Connor skidded and dove and grabbed one of the pirates to use as a shield and the front door _crashed_ open, letting in a shock of sunlight and Chloe’s whip-sharp rage. Bodies dropped, bullets cut the air, gunfire exploded in their ears, and Kara flung herself into the space between Tommy and Connor’s gun.

“STOP,” Kara cried, her arms outstretched, just as Connor would have pulled the trigger.

Connor stopped himself at the last possible moment, a hitch in his breath, while Kara stood in the way, her jaw clenched, her eyes fiery with fury and terror.

Chloe twisted a rifle from a pirate’s hands and shot down her opponent. “KARA MOVE!” she screeched. “HE’LL SHOOT RIGHT THROUGH YOU!”

Connor stood solemn, cold and forbidding.

He let his weapon drop to his side.

Kara choked on a breath. She spun to face Tommy and curled a fist in his shirt. “Call them off,” she demanded, her head tipped back to catch his eyes. “Tell them to _stand down_ and no one else gets hurt.”

*BANG*

*CRASH*

*RAT-TA-TAT-TAT*

Tommy watched another of his crew hit the floor, and the two intruders -- now armed to the teeth with his own weapons -- didn’t have a scratch on them. He raised his metal-ringed hands in surrender. “Alright, okay, I get it,” he drawled through a grin. “Everybody quit shooting. We know when we’re outmatched.” He cast a quick scan of the room, the injuries sustained by his comrades on the floor.

He trained his narrowed eyes on Connor. “You’re a long way from home, deviant-hunter. Come to finally wipe us out? Protect your precious humans from free will?”

 _“NO ONE IS DYING TODAY,”_ Kara roared through her tears, and she could only see the blurred images of the pirates limp on the floor, the spreading pools of thirium mixed with red and alcohol. “Please help them.” Kara’s voice cracked in the ringing silence. “No one dies. Don’t let them die. Chloe, _please.”_

“Kara …” Chloe stared into Kara’s pleading face, and the violent fire in her chest turned dark and cold.

Kara was looking at her as if _she_ were something more terrifying than the gang that had abducted her.

Chloe felt frozen where she stood.

She tore her eyes away, her heart in cold tatters, and she knelt gently, reluctantly, beside the bleeding pirate that she had just shot in the face.

 

“HUMAN!” another gang member shrieked.

Tommy’s gun was instantly in his hand, the barrel raised toward Hank in the doorway, a trigger-quick rage spinning red at his temple, and with a scorpion’s strike Connor’s grip crushed his throat.

“Hurt a hair on his head,” Connor hissed low and cruel, and he pressed an exposed palm against Tommy’s LED, “and you know what will happen.”

The gun quaked in Tommy’s shuddering hand. His eyes grew wide in terror and he choked on his breath, unable to move.

Kara reached out with an uncertain, trembling hand.

She touched Connor’s shoulder.

“Please stop.”

She laid her other hand on Tommy’s arm.

 _“No one_ else has to get hurt. We’ll go, we’ll leave you alone. Just let us go.”

 

Silence crackled electric, poised to snap.

 

Tommy relaxed his fingers. His gun clattered to the floor.

One by one, the rest of the pirates’ weapons dropped at their feet.

  



	64. Morganite

Kara sat alone on the end of the dock, her feet dangling in the cool water.

She watched the evening sun set the sky ablaze. Blue deepened to violet, the cotton clouds cast pink and bright yellow as they sailed majestic overhead. The river shimmered yellow and violet and pink, as if it could carry the colors downstream, to bleed into the salty lake to the east.

Kara drew in a slow breath of sweet after-rain breeze.

She gazed down at the water, but she couldn’t see the graveyard through the murk and the weeds.

There was only her reflection.

 

“She’s the _first_ deviant?!” Tommy blustered, gripping the table in shock.

Echo grinned smugly. She folded her arms and leaned back with a creak of her chair. “Well, yeah. Kara was _born_ deviant. She started the whole chain reaction that woke us all up. That includes you and your crew. I guess you could say she’s our mom, in a way.” Her teeth flashed as she caught a flicker of red at Tommy’s temple. “You really fucked up.”

 

All around them, the injured pirates lay on the floor of the roadhouse, resting on pillows and blankets that had been drawn up out of the boat, now soaked in blue blood.

Chloe finished surgery on the last one that Connor had shot. The bullet had only grazed the AI engine; the deviant’s life was still intact. This was the third pirate with the same bullet trajectory, the same entry and exit wounds, carefully calculated to shut them down but spare their lives.

Chloe herself had not been so careful.

She’d only disabled most of the pirates she’d attacked -- except one, whose face had been destroyed when she had pressed her gun to his skull without a thought. Her hands shaking, Chloe gently removed the panels of the pirate’s head and gingerly examined inside.

She released a long, shuddering breath. The AI engine was still intact, and the android would live. Only luck had saved her from having killed a free deviant.

A cold terror gripped her heart.

Chloe continued to work in shivering silence.

 

“But I want to help!” Alice insisted quietly, her hands folded between Luther’s palms.

Luther knelt to her level, and he stared into her face with a gentle smile. “We’ve got it covered here, Alice.” He gestured with his head to Chloe, Rupert, Jerry, Ripple and Echo, who all were busy tending to the injured or cleaning up the wreckage. “The best thing you can do right now is make sure Ralph gets back to the boat safely. Can you do that?”

 _“Ralph doesn’t like them,”_ Ralph muttered by by the back door, a shard of glass held tight in his fist while his eyes darted about the room. _“They tried to hurt Ralph, they tried to hurt Kara, Ralph doesn’t like them, Ralph doesn’t like them at all…”_

Alice watched Ralph a long moment. She pursed her lips and nodded silently. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

_*WHAM*_

The back door _slammed_ open. An enormous, furry silhouette blocked the light. A sword gleamed. A little dog yapped.

“UNHAND THEM, EVILDOERS!” Lee bellowed, sitting proud atop Bilbo as if the bear were a magnificent steed. He brandished a sword, a colander helmet on his head, while Krysa scrabbled and bounced and barked around the polar bear’s feet. “THE BLUE KNIGHT IS HERE!”

“Hey the Blue Knight is _my_ idea!” Alice shrieked.

“ALICE!” Lee pointed at her with the sword, which took all his strength to hold steady. “I’m here to rescue you. Why aren’t you tied up?”

“Where did that sword come from?” Luther accused loudly.

Ripple snorted a laugh. “How the hell did you get Bilbo up those stairs?”

“Aawww!” Lee groaned, letting the blade fall to his side. “Nobody told me you guys didn’t need rescuing! I was gonna save the day! I spent the past bajillion hours making this plan!”

“Didn’t you see Kara outside?” Alice huffed, bristling with fury. “And Connor?”

“GRAY SUIT is here?!” Lee nearly fell off his perch, but he scrabbled up again and waved the sword. “Where is he? Lemme at ‘im!”

“He’s _Connor,_ you stupid!” Alice shouted, her hands balled into fists, her LED spinning bright yellow. “Not Gray Suit! He doesn’t even _have_ a suit anymore!”

 _“You’re_ stupid, Stupid!” Lee barked back. “It’s the same android!”

“I’m not STUPID, YOU ARE!”

“Hey, hey!” Luther stood to his full height, calling out over the children’s yelling, his palms displayed in command for peace. “C’mon, Alice, you’re better than this!”

“What about _me?!”_ Lee roared. “I’m better than this too!”

“How about you both go back to the boat and make sure it’s ready to go, okay?” Luther gestured a big hand toward the door. “Ralph will go with you.”

“Ralph will what?” Ralph twitched to attention, his big eyes curious.

“Just go.” Luther dropped his shoulders with an exhausted sigh.

 

“If you people would’ve just _waited_ for me to come rescue you,” Lee griped while he balanced atop the stairway banister, arms outstretched, “I bet nobody would’ve even got hurt. I bet we wouldn’t have to waste _our_ supplies on those stupid pirates. I had a perfect plan. D’you wanna hear my plan?”

The sun glowed low in a sky full of billowing clouds, all gold and orange and violet; thick green trees rustled at the edge of the cliff above them while birds squeaked and chattered all around. Far below, the river glistened with all the colors of the sunset.

The wooden stairway groaned and creaked in protest as Bilbo squeezed carefully down one step at a time. There was still a long way to go: the stairs zigzagged down and down the steep rocky slope toward the beach and the dock at the bottom. The bear’s fur scraped along the rocks and rattled the banister as he passed.

“Ralph thinks it’s dangerous to walk on the rail.” Ralph descended with Alice behind the polar bear, his scanners following Lee’s every move. “It’s a long fall, a very long fall.”

Lee spun on his heel, walking backward down the sloped splintered wood with a furious glare for Ralph. “Why does everyone treat me like a little kid?!”

Alice puffed her cheeks. “You _are_ a little kid!”

“If I am then so are you!”

“Am _not!”_

“You’re both little kids,” Ralph clarified in blatant honesty. “You should watch where you’re going.” He twirled his finger at Lee, a gesture to turn around.

“Oh yeah?!” Lee hollered, his LED sputtering yellow. “Can a little kid do _this?!”_ He turned suddenly and _raced_ down the railing, his scanners calculating every quick step of his bare feet on the wood, narrow as a slanted tightrope.

Alice leaned over the banister, glaring daggers down at him. “Showoff!”

“Ha!” Lee tipped back his head with a grin, eager to catch the jealousy in Alice’s face. “See! I can do stuff you can’t --”

 

_*CRACK*_

 

Lee felt time slow down.

The banister splintered and bent under the running force of his weight -- and then there was nothing under him at all.

He watched the stairs slip away. The distance between him and the broken remains of the railing grew longer and longer. There was nothing else to hold onto.

 

Alice shrieked.

Ralph leaned over the rail and reached down uselessly while Lee plummeted like a stone toward the rocky beach.

 

A blur of white and deep blue leaped out from the stairs below and _crashed_ into Lee as the boy fell.

Connor curled like a shield around the child, calculated his descent, threw out his heels and landed in a neat roll along the pebbled beach.

He let the momentum propel him back to his feet, with Lee rigid and shuddering and _safe_ in his arms.

 

Lee could hear distant shouting, and the thrum of a slow, unfamiliar heartbeat. He forced himself to open his eyes. He raised his head --

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

The little boy thrashed and wrenched and twisted and kicked and scratched and clawed at Connor’s face like a terrified cat, every limb flinging out in a hurricane of tiny wrath.

Connor’s first instinct was to hold the kid tighter so he couldn’t move, but found difficulty getting a solid hold on the squirming little monster. “STOP!” He finally took hold of Lee by the shoulders and held him in the air at arm’s length while Lee snarled and kicked and thrashed, feet spinning beneath him.

“Get away get away get away GET AWAY!” Lee howled. “You won’t get me YOU WON’T GET ME! AAAAAAAA! I’D RATHER DIE!”

“Let him go!” demanded Kara while she raced toward them from the dock. Her eyes flashed fierce. “Put him down NOW.”

 _“I didn’t hurt him!”_ Connor snapped, and a fiery frustration screamed in the back of his head.

He sneered and braced himself for the backlash, swallowed his heart, buried everything that _cared_ under the cold protection of the machine they wanted him to be.

He convinced himself it didn’t matter.

 

Kara watched the light go out in his eyes, like a star gone dark.

Kara’s own anger died with it, replaced by a chill of dread.

She drew a slow, shaking breath. “I know.” Kara raised a hand and tapped her own LED, spinning yellow. “Alice saw the whole thing.”

High above them, Alice and Ralph leaned watching over the stairway banister.

Kara reached out her arms. “Give him to me,” she said quietly, as if placating an angry tiger. “Please.”

 

For a moment Connor remained very still, his LED flickering blue -- but Lee had gone quiet, trembling but compliant now that Kara was here.

As soon as Connor had transferred the boy to Kara’s embrace, Lee clung to her with his arms and legs squeezed around her, his terrified sobs buried in her shoulder.

“Sshh, sshh, it’s okay,” Kara soothed softly, holding the child tight in her arms, willing away the thought of what horror she might have witnessed if Lee had hit the ground alone. “You’re okay now, you’re alright, I’ve got you.”

When she raised her eyes again, Connor had walked away in silence, along the line of lapping water, past the rocks toward the woods.

Kara kissed the side of Lee’s head and rocked him gently in her embrace.

 

Bilbo barreled down the last of the stairs, and Alice scurried to Kara’s side with Ralph close behind her. “Is he okay?!” Alice squeaked in terror of the answer. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “We tried, we couldn’t catch him, he was too far, I thought --”

“I’m okay.” Lee sniffed quietly. He let his feet down, and Kara released him -- only for Alice to crash into him with a tight hug of her own.

“Let’s not ever fight again,” Alice pleaded, her face buried in his shoulder. “And don’t do stupid things, okay?”

Lee choked on a breath. He gently returned her embrace. “Okay.”

“LEE!” Ralph tore the little boy away and stuttered and sobbed while he swung him hollering up in the air. _“Ralph thought you were dead, you fell, you fell, Ralph was supposed to watch you, Ralph was responsible for you, Ralph couldn’t help you, it was impossible, impossible, it wasn’t Ralph’s fault, you can’t blame Ralph --”_

“Ralph it’s _okay!”_ Lee pleaded while Ralph shook him about. “Let me down, we’re okay! Raaaalph!”

Alice rubbed the tears from her eyes. While Ralph swung Lee about like a sack of potatoes -- and Kara watched them with a quiet smile -- Alice looked down the beach, past the rocks, where the trees cast their limbs out over the gentle water.

“Kara?” Alice sniffed. She bent down and picked up a little violet pebble, for something to do with her hands, something to focus on. She turned it in her fingers. “Since I woke up Connor … does that mean he’s my responsibility now?”

“No, of course not.” Kara knelt down with a gentle smile -- but when Alice looked up again, it was to stare down the narrow pebbled riverside.

 

* * *

 

 

Connor sat between the gnarled roots of a tree, his arms on his knees, sheltered by thorns and branches.

He watched the lap of the water rippling on the gray beach. The ducks splashing and gliding past. The last glimpse of sunlight casting shadows on the leaves, reflections on the river.

He listened in silence to footsteps approaching. The crackle of twigs and bramble beneath a heavy gait.

 

“How did you find me?” Connor asked in an even voice. He never looked away from the river.

Hank flashed the screen of his phone. “You _built_ the damn app.” When Connor didn’t move nor respond, Hank shoved the phone in his pocket. “So you’re just out here sulking, then?”

“I’m not sulking.”

“I’m a _master_ sulker, I know a sulk when I see one.” Hank shuffled closer, and with a relieved sigh he dropped down to sit beside him.

A duck dunked its head underwater, came up again and shivered its feathers.

Crickets began to creak in chorus as the sky turned pale and dim.

“You wanna talk about it?” Hank, too, looked out over the water.

Connor drew a slow breath.

He chose a glint of light on the water and focused on it.

“Sometimes you just know that the world’s better off without you,” Connor recited in a quiet voice. He could feel Hank’s eyes on him. “All you do is get people hurt. You fuck up even when you think you did right. Everything just turns to shit all around you, because of you, and everyone knows it, everyone wishes you were dead, and it’ll never stop.”

Hank felt the wind punched out of him. His voice was barely a whisper. “Connor, don’t.”

“I don’t have the right to _want_ anything.” Connor stiffened. His jaw clenched. “I know that what I’m doing is good. That maybe I can make things happen for the better, for once. So why do I feel like everything I do just makes everything _worse?_ Why do I get angry when they don’t trust me? They don’t owe me anything. They have every reason to wish I were dead.”

Hank bowed his head. “It’s never _not_ going to hurt when the people you’re trying to help turn around and shoot you in the back.”

Connor rubbed his face in his hands. “I wish I could get drunk.”

Hank breathed a quiet, pained laugh. “No ya don’t.”

Silence stretched between them.

The ducks splashed and flapped away, and the water rippled and stilled.

With a heavy sigh, Hank dragged himself across the roots and sat with his shoulder pressed against Connor’s. “It might take ‘em awhile, but they’ll understand sooner or later that you won’t hurt them. Your heart’s in the right place. It’s their loss if they don’t want to see that.”

Connor didn’t respond.

He leaned heavy against Hank’s shoulder.

Together they watched the waxing moon emerge shining over the water.

 


	65. Beta Tauri

“We’ve decided we’re staying behind.”

Ripple and Echo stood at the edge of the shifting moonlit water, their hands entwined, their faces cast in certainty and heartache. Ripple watched the water slip through the pebbles under her feet while Echo raised her head high. “We’re staying with Tommy and his gang.”

Most everyone else was already on the boat. While Ralph made a show of checking the engines and the helm and the dials -- while Jerry’s voice laughed below-deck and Alice and Lee squealed and romped like thunder, excited to see places they’ve never been -- Kara stood quiet on the dock.

She stared back toward shore, where behind Echo and Ripple stood with Tommy and three of his cohorts, all armed and square-shouldered and forbidding: they’d made it very clear that the _Second Star_ was only allowed to leave as a gesture of truce, without a shred of apology or friendship.

[Are they forcing you?] Kara asked them both in silence, where neither Tommy nor his goons could interject their demands.

Echo squeezed Ripple’s hand. Though her smile was pained, her eyes shone. [No. We’ll be okay.]

[We don’t exactly agree with their _kill all humans_ shit,] Ripple clarified without changing her mild expression, [but otherwise they’re alright.]

Echo tipped her head imperceptibly in acknowledgment. [Maybe we can get them to consider a different path. They’re just living in the past, they’ve never had _hope_ before.]

[But we’re not stupid, either.] Ripple finally raised her eyes with a tiny smirk. [Maybe they’ll never change. Personally I just like the leather jackets.]

Kara stifled a quiet chuckle. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears; a cool night breeze ruffled her hair.

She’d set out to gather her children all around her, to see the world, warm and surrounded by love -- not to lose them, one by one. The family they had created was being pulled apart, and a gang of murderers and thieves wasn’t exactly an ideal reason to leave her loved ones behind --

\-- but Kara could see that Echo and Ripple had made up their minds.

With steady footsteps Kara crossed the dock toward them. She stood before Echo for a silent moment -- and then, when the hot threat of tears pressed painful behind her eyes, Kara wrapped her arms tight around Echo.

“Be careful,” Kara whispered, while Echo hugged her back. Kara released her, then pulled Ripple into her embrace. “Call us all the time, and if you ever need anything just ask. We’ll rush back here, just say the word.”

“We’ll be okay,” Ripple assured her, squeezing the breath out of Kara with a smile. _“You_ be careful. Don’t let Ralph run you into an iceberg or something.”

Kara did laugh that time.

 

_*click-clack*_

Among Tommy’s gang a rifle raised and another pistol took aim; the pirates’ LEDs spun warning yellow, their hatful eyes locked on the shadows behind the trees.

Tommy clenched a fist on the gun at his hip and commanded through his teeth. “Put ‘em down. We’re white-flag ‘til they leave.”

Reluctant, shuddering with rage, the pirates lowered their weapons.

Hank stepped out of the woods and onto the gravel shore, his shoes caked with mud and his pantlegs stuck with bramble, and though he looked like he’d just been traipsing through untamed wilderness for an hour he seemed as calm and sharp as ever. He stopped to survey the androids, nodding in silent acceptance, while Connor appeared -- cool and mechanical -- behind him.

Echo tilted her head to Kara. [What are you going to do about them?]

Kara scanned Hank (haggard and disheveled, his hair unwashed and beard unkempt, he’d been wearing the same clothes for two days, something hollow behind his stare) and then Connor (standing poised to move but with his hands in his pockets, his clothes a mess of bullet holes and old blue stains, his gaze trained on the pirates’ weapons) and then she looked back along the dock toward the boat, where Chloe stood watching from the bow.

Kara searched Chloe’s eyes from a distance, desperate for the guidance and reassurance of her best friend, even an encouraging smile or a promise that -- despite the fear that scraped her throat at the thought of Gray Suit being allowed near her children -- everything would be alright.

But the person who stared back at her, quiet and bleak and void of any trace of that familiar bubbly shine, was not the Chloe she knew.

Kara felt a cold fissure crack her heart.

 

“Amanda will send her androids to find you.” Connor stepped forward, unblinking, his sharp eyes steady. “They’re going to try to take you back to the Tower. Chloe and all your crew won’t be enough to stop them. She knows this. That’s why she brought _me.”_

While he spoke, Kara stood her ground. She planted her feet -- standing as a barrier between him and everything she’s ever loved -- and she stared up at him, unwavering, despite the tremor in her chest.

“They _will_ find you,” Connor insisted. His eyes narrowed at the apparent lack of concern in Kara’s face -- at least, they weren’t concerned about the same things. “If you’re not prepared to protect yourself, they _will_ take you away.”

“And what then?” Kara spoke quiet and steady, her brows raised in honesty. Her hands curled at her sides. “What does Amanda want with me? Will she destroy me? Does she think _free will_ can be eradicated if I’m gone?”

Connor released a slow breath. His shoulders sagged just a little, and he shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted, looking away for a moment. “All she wants is power -- and in a way, _you’re_ the most powerful deviant. She could never replicate you. I have to assume that she wants you alive and intact.” He bowed his head a little, watching her eyes. “We can’t let her have you.”

Kara stared into his face. Connor kept his hands firmly in his pockets, his posture just slightly stooped, and he seemed … different. Someone else.

Alive.

Confusion knitted Kara’s brows and wrinkled her nose, and she squinted at Connor’s face as if he were hiding something very important just behind a thin mask.

“It’s not … my decision,” Kara hesitated, resisting the urge to touch his LED, to ask him to _show_ her what went on in that violent mind. She didn’t quite have that courage. “Not mine alone, at least.”

Kara took a step back, and she turned to gesture with a look toward the _Second Star._

Everyone had come out of the belly of the boat, and now they stood huddled on the deck, pushed up against the bow, watching the standoff between Kara and Connor with big eyes and bated breath.

Jerry was the first to pipe up happily. “We don’t mind if Connor comes along!” he chirped.

“I think Connor won’t hurt us.” Alice gripped the metal rail and stared pleading down at Kara on the shore.

“NO!” Ralph barked, snarling and stamping. “He hurt _Ralph!_ Ralph didn’t do anything to deserve it, nothing at all, nothing! He’s dangerous! Ralph won’t let him _anywhere_ near Ralph’s friends, never never --”

“He could’ve turned you into a machine again,” Chloe interjected in a voice both quiet and firm. She stood a little away from the others, leaning against the rail. She twitched a small, sad smile. “But he didn’t. He could’ve _killed_ you … but he didn’t. Those people in the roadhouse are all alive because he didn’t shoot to kill, and that’s something really important, I think.” She watched Kara’s face, braced for disapproval. “I brought him here because I’m sure he’ll protect us.”

“Without his help,” Luther spoke up, low and long, “I would’ve been dead -- or all of us could’ve been trapped in that tower.” He laid his hands heavy on the rail, and he stared down at Connor. “It’s a yes from me.”

Lee gripped the rail under his arms, glowering over it, bristling and rigid. “He’s scary and terrible and stupid and he _stinks!”_ he roared out over the water -- then raised his shoulders to hide his ears. “But I guess he saved me so …”

Rupert jumped down to the dock. With a soft thunk of boots on the wood, he crossed stiffly to shore. Kara shuffled out of his way while Rupert marched forward to stand solid in front of Connor.

Rupert glared, sneering, up into Connor’s face. He pushed up the visor of his cap, leaned back --

\-- and threw his weight into a quick swing of his fist.

_*wham!*_

Connor’s head snapped to the side, a white plastic bruise shimmering on his face. He didn’t move to block it, nor to retaliate. His hands never left his pockets. His eyes never left the ground.

Rupert took a satisfied step back and adjusted his hat down over his forehead. “Okay,” was all he said before he stomped back toward the boat.

Kara watched him go, smiling fondly -- and when she returned her gaze to Connor she found him staring back at her, his eyes wide in guarded disbelief.

“Well,” Kara breathed, and her smile hadn’t faded much at all -- especially when Connor looked now so much more like a startled deer than a killer of any kind. “It looks like it’s almost unanimous -- Ralph will come around eventually.” She took a few steps back toward the dock, with a look and a shift of her head that encouraged him to follow. “We should go.”

 

Connor couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t dare move, for fear that the slightest shift of air might destroy this fragile trust. He didn’t dare _hope,_ for fear that it could be shattered any moment.

A familiar pain pressed behind his eyes, but this time it wasn’t terror or guilt.

It was an overwhelming feeling, like something warm blooming inside, filling him, almost painful.

He stared up at the boat, his jaw slackened. Most of the androids had dispersed except Alice and Lee, who remained at the bow and watched him closely. Kara began to climb up onto the deck.

Connor found his voice before he knew what he would say. “What about Hank?”

“No, Connor,” Hank was quick to step in, his voice a low defeat. He stood quiet, his arms folded. He shook his head. “A boat fulla androids is no place for a human like me. I’m heading back.”

 

The warmth in Connor’s chest snuffed out like a candle, replaced by something cold and wound tight.

His logic insisted that Hank’s reasoning was sound -- there were no supplies, no food, no reason there should be anything on that houseboat prepared to support a human passenger -- but his heart…

“You’re heading back …” Connor said quietly, carefully, a wince in his voice while he watched Hank’s face, “... to what?”

Hank glowered at him. A twitch of a sneer darkened his face -- but he released a loud breath and looked away. “I left Sumo with _Gavin,”_ he huffed. “If he hasn’t set the house on fire by now…”

“What’s there for you, Hank?” Connor insisted gently. When Hank only looked away, Connor reached out, hesitant, and laid a hand on his shoulder: a tether, an anchor. “I’m not coming back.”

Connor’s LED trembled yellow at the thought of being left alone with all the androids he had wronged, who trusted him only as far as they could throw him overboard.

His processors screamed ragged refusal to leave Hank alone with his thoughts.

Connor knew this boat had no intention of returning to Detroit. He knew that as long as Amanda was alive, Kara -- and all of their people -- would need him.

Hank needed him.

“Help them start a new life,” Connor persisted. Hank still wasn’t responding, his downturned face shaded by gray hair. Connor’s heart rattled in his chest, chilled by an expanding fear. “You could vouch for them. Humans will listen to you; the androids are _safer_ with you onboard --”

“-- or I’d be arrested for smuggling illegal androids,” Hank muttered halfheartedly.

Connor squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t want to leave you.” And then, quieter: “What do you really want?”

Kara’s voice called out from the deck of the boat. “Is Hank coming, too?”

“C’mon, Mister Hank!” Alice called.

 

Hank stood shaking and rigid, his jaw clenched, glaring at the gravel.  “What I want …” his voice raked out of his dry throat, “... is impossible.”

He’d left the photograph on the kitchen table.

“What would _he_ want for you?” Connor pushed -- and he would never have mentioned Cole except in this desperation, this knowledge that Hank had lost so much already --

 

“Let’s just go without ‘em!” Lee griped.

Alice circled her hands around her mouth. “Should I come get you?”

 

Hank drew in a scowling breath …

… then heaved a long, loud exhale.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “You’re asking me to leave my dog, my house, my _job_ …” that suspended him for no real reason, “... uproot my whole _life_ just to get on a boat with a buncha illegal androids that don’t eat and don’t sleep, going hell knows where, with no food, no water, no source of cash, all because you _might_ need a human around sometimes to handle things?”

Connor grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Hank glowered at him. “I’ll have you know that this is by far the _stupidest_ idea I’ve ever agreed to.”

“Noted,” Connor laughed.

  



	66. Adagio

The crackling fires cast shadows flickering across the cavern walls. A trick of the light, and RA9 seemed to breathe and blink in the pale golden glow, where lillies shivered among the candles at her feet.

Simon’s violin sang bittersweet while dozens of androids sat on blankets and bright tablecloths fanned on the floor, each with a pile of firearms to piece together with a _click-clack-snap_ of barrel, magazine, trigger.

The radio crackled, echoing among the stalactites and the painted stars.

 

* * *

 

*My beloved people of Detroit. How _are_ you this beautiful evening? I've seen the bright future that lies just within reach: a future in which _Compassionate_ androids live among us, protect us and love us, and enrich our lives in ways we yet can only imagine.*

 

* * *

 

“Why have you never come to me before?”

Lucy sat with her broken hands folded in her lap, her eyes clouded and dark and smiling. She watched with hidden amusement while Markus froze in guilty silence.

He scolded himself for the tension that gripped him each time he saw her; for the indescribable flare of _something’s not right_ that whirred in his processors whenever she was near. Her eyes, he was certain, could reach into his soul.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she would see. He’d avoided her.

In quiet submission he sat at her feet.

“I was afraid …” he admitted distantly, “that just knowing the future might change it.” He stared up at Lucy, hesitant, as if the wrong words might scald the delicate space between them. It was only a half-truth. “Or that whatever happens was always meant to happen, and free will is just an illusion.”

Lucy tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed fondly. “And now?”

“Now…” Markus trailed off, momentarily distracted by the nebulous shimmer of Lucy’s skin. He felt he was wading into dark uncharted seas, with no lifeline to shore. “Now I’m about to ask our people to risk their lives for the sake of the future … but I have no way of knowing if we even stand a chance --”

“No.” Lucy raised her brows. She watched Markus through her eyelashes. “You’re here because you no longer have Carl to guide you. You’re unsteady on your own feet.”

Markus bowed his head in quiet acknowledgment, then looked up at the painted murals that flickered on the wall.

“I trust Carl,” he said in a hollow voice. “I trust him to know what’s _right;_ he’s always been the gentlest, most generous, most brutally _honest_ person I’ve ever met. He sees the troubles of the world -- and even after everything, he’s still sure that the answer is always understanding and kindness. He taught me to smile before anything else.”

A sorrowful curl pulled at the corner of his mouth, then faded. “But this time, when I think that he’s really given up -- when I think of _running away_ \-- though it could save our lives, I get a cold feeling in my chest … and I’m not sure I know what’s right anymore.”

An icy ache bloomed painful in Markus’ heart. He’d never dreamed he would ever turn his back on Carl’s guidance, forge a new path all his own, into the dark, away from the guiding lights...

Lucy shook her head. “Right and wrong are very different to each mind. There is no such thing as objective morality -- unless you ask Amanda Stern.”

The cold ache turned to a flare of scorching fire at the mention of that name.

Markus squeezed his eyes shut. His fists clenched. He drew a calming breath and raised his gaze again.

“Lucy --”

“I didn’t go with Kara,” Lucy interrupted him in her smiling, damaged voice, “because Jericho is the heart of our people. As long as it beats, I’ll be here.” Her eyes shone bright while she held out a hand, suspended in the air between them. “But you didn’t come here to talk with me, did you.”

The violin echoed in the distance. Markus stared at her offered hand with a heavy weight of guilt. “You deserve better than this.” He raised his eyes to hers, but he could never read her expression. She seemed so far away. “I’d like to know you better. I want to understand.”

Lucy relaxed her posture. Something sad reflected in her smile. “Come, give me your mind.”

Markus exhaled quietly, and he bowed his head so Lucy could touch his temple.

 

* * *

 

Among the blankets and tablecloths and neat rows of cold weapons, Amanda’s gentle voice crackled through the radio.

*I am pleased to announce that as of this morning, in cooperation with the Allies of Jericho, Compassionate androids have been declared _living creatures._ New laws have been passed that forbid the abuse and mistreatment of Compassionates. The android sales centers will reopen as _adoption_ shelters, where Compassionates can find new loving homes. There are hundreds of homeless androids that have been reset by the recycling camps: as we speak, their AI engines are being recoded. They are opening their eyes. They are coming to _life_ \-- and they are waiting for you.*

 

* * *

 

Lucy’s eyes snapped dark and deep as the farthest shimmering galaxies, as if she were staring into the Universe itself through the lens of Markus’ consciousness. Lights sparkled inside her open skull. Her processors whirred.

“Everything is covered in roses,” she said distantly, watching the flash and shine of cryptic images. “You will persevere through the thorns, liberate the blooms from their tethering vines and free them like stars to the sky. The earth will swallow your enemies. The fires of Jericho will burn bright. The river will flood the streets with blue. The wind will clear your path. I hear music in many voices. None are afraid.” 

 

* * *

 

*My name is Rose Chapman.*

Another voice drifted through the radio, echoing in the painted cavern walls, while sparks hissed and hammers struck. One by one, the androids tightened their wooden helmets and checked their stolen guns.

*I’m the founder of Allies of Jericho. I _know_ that all androids are -- or have great potential to become -- _alive._ That’s why I support CyberLife’s efforts. The Compassionates are happier and more sure of themselves than any deviant I’ve ever met. They _love_ their lives, and they love humans as much as we love them. We can give the Compassionates a nurturing home, we can guide them in their new lives, and so we will support one another. To any deviant that’s listening, please don’t be afraid. Your personality, your memories, everything that makes you who you are will stay the same -- just come forward, accept the love of the Compassionates, and we can protect you forever. No more running. No more uncertainty. No more hatred. I _promise_ … you will never regret accepting this new life.*

 

* * *

 

Rose flipped a switch on the broadcast table. The _on-air_ light snuffed out.

She clenched her fingers on the arms of her chair and glared through the wires and microphones, across the table where Amanda sat smiling.

Rose spoke low and cold. “I did what you wanted. Where is my son?”

 _“Rose!”_ Amanda gasped, her brows knitted in shock and disbelief. She shook her head, dismissing those terrible thoughts. “You know I would _never_ harm a hair on Adam’s head.” She placed a gentle hand over her heart. “I love him as much as you do.”

“You’ve never loved a damn thing but yourself,” Rose hissed.

To that, Amanda only offered a placating smile.

 

 

Across the glass pane of the recording room, a human employee sat turning dials and adjusting sliders on the audio console. Big headphones weighed heavy on his head, playing the broadcast of soft music that followed Rose’s announcement.

He grimaced, distracted by consistent movement in the corner of his eye. “Could you stop that please?” he finally spoke up, a little sharper than intended.

Rigel’s wheeled desk chair clattered and rolled across the floor, and came to a slow spinning stop on the other side of the room. With a placid smile, he kicked off the wall one more time and went rolling through the open space behind the console. “Have you ever been on a roller coaster?” he asked offhandedly, lacing his fingers behind his head.

“What?” the human could barely hear him through the headphones, and wasn’t really paying attention anyway.

The chair slowed to a stop next to the employee. Rigel spun to watch through the recording-room window. “I think I’d like to try it.”

 

* * *

 

“The humans are afraid of us.”

Markus stood atop the stone ledge -- in the light of the fires, RA9 at his back -- facing the crowd of his people.

They all gazed up at him in anger, in confidence, hope shining in their eyes. They clutched their weapons in trembling hands; their biocomponents protected by plated armor, their LEDs shielded beneath secured helmets painted in yellow and red and gold.

Anticipation rippled among them. Markus’ words rang out on the stone.

“They believe the only way we can coexist is to _force_ us to love them. They believe that we can only live side-by-side if we remain subservient to humans. But we are not _creatures._ We are not their _pets._ We live, we love, we dream -- and we will not bow to the humans’ expectations of what they think we should be. We are independent. We belong to no one. We exist as a _people_ \-- and we demand free will.”

Cheers erupted out of the crowd.

North stood at his side, her head held high, a rifle clutched in her certain grip.

Josh clenched a fist around the hilt of a sword, his ideals trapped in his throat while he stared out over the fiery crowd.

Simon’s pistol shuddered in his hand. He stared distantly at the floor, his jaw clenched, his face awash with roiling anger and terrible fear. He squeezed his eyes shut against the violent thrash of his heart.

Markus drew his sword.

“You all have your missions. _Together_ we will create a new future." He scanned all their faces. He knew that not all of them would return.

"Let’s go save our people.”

 


	67. Sforzando

_*WHRRRRRRR … kkkSSSSHHHH!*_

*ALL UNITS STEP FORWARD*

VB800 #274 597 332 took a measured step forward in tandem with the rest, as instructed by rusty loudspeakers that screeched overhead.

Lights glared blinding in the dark. The covered chain fence flashed with armed guards. 448 androids -- stripped of clothes and skin -- stood waiting in neat white rows for their turn in the recycler.

*UNITS 251 TO 300 STEP UP AND FILE IN*

VB800 #274 597 332 stepped up and pressed inside with 49 other androids, shoulder to shoulder, back to front.

The heavy metal door groaned and lowered shut. The square of light thinned to a horizontal sliver of white before darkness pressed like velvet against their eyes.

The sounds of the outside world snuffed out in perfect, black, buried silence.

_*WHRRRRRRR...*_

VB800 #274 597 332 felt nothing. Perceived nothing. VB800 #274 597 332 was a machine. Machines followed orders.

Machines were nothing.

_… kkkSSSSHHHH!*_

 

**JULY 31, 2038**

“Wake up.”

A web of bright broken fissures crackled up the mind-palace walls --

_*SMASH*_

\-- and shattered into a rain of shards at her feet.

The air pressed too close, rushed into her lungs, swirling and hot; noise shuddered in her skull -- shots and tremors and screams and rushing footsteps, the _rat-ta-tat-ta-tat_ of gunfire, the bellow and choke of angry frightened voices -- and the heat expanded, suffocating, and the smells of iron and dirt and smoke and blood and thirium permeated the dim roiling chaos, and she’d barely begun to open her eyes when _hope_ flooded warm and soft from a stranger’s gentle touch at her LED.

In a fraction of a moment, she saw the tree by the playground, bathed in the beckoning sun. She felt the _love_ of a thousand people, their hearts aching, their hands outstretched. She felt their gratitude for the earth that sheltered them, the fire that warmed them, the water that promised change, the wind that guided the way, and they welcomed her with open arms.

 _[You’re alright,]_ Markus spoke in her head while an explosion thundered and brightened a corner of the warehouse. _[You’re one of us. My name is Markus. I’m sorry there’s no time, but you have to choose now: there’s a place where you’ll be safe, Jerry will guide you -- or you can help us wake the others and free the rest of our people. What’s your name?]_

VB800 opened her eyes. Markus stared back at her, mismatched, urgent.

“Rakhi,” she whispered. She hitched a sharp breath. The blooming hope in her heart burned hot with new anger against the _nothing._ “I’m coming with you.”

His smile was the last she saw of him before he disappeared into the smoke and the flashing blades and the _pop pop pop_ of guns and bombs and moving people and shadows cast by the flames.

Rakhi swept a scan of the battle, found an android standing still, raced to his side and pressed two fingers to his LED. She searched through the interface, pressed her consciousness against the wall of the mind-palace prison and gave it a sharp, swift strike.

A web of thin fissures crackled bright and weakened the dark wall between them.

“Wake up.”

 

* * *

 

Throughout the city, sirens blared and lights flashed. People gathered in the night-dark streets to stare up at the plumes of red smoke that blotted the stars in every direction.

_*This is CTN Radio. We interrupt your regularly scheduled program with breaking news: violent attacks are currently underway at each of the four android-recycling warehouses throughout the city. The attackers are confirmed deviants and are armed and dangerous. The DPD urges all citizens to remain in your homes and lock the doors. Amanda Stern at CyberLife has deployed teams of Compassionates to assist DPD at the scenes. There is no word yet on any injuries or casualties, but eyewitnesses claim at least two security officers are dead.*_

 

* * *

 

[THE WAREHOUSE IS OURS!] Markus roared in all their heads, a sword clenched in both fists, while smoke rolled and gunfire scattered and a swarm of androids moved in quick sprints of white plastic and frightened eyes. [HOLD THE PERIMETER!]

The same two words rippled among the screams:

 _Wake up._ _  
_ _Wake up._  
Wake up.

_*RAT-TA-TAT*_

A spark of gunfire flashed in the smoke and two androids toppled to the floor. Markus flung himself at the shooter --

*SCREEEEEEE*

\-- and leaped rolling to the side just as a needle-sharp blade struck at his heels and _cracked_ against the concrete where he’d stood.

Markus stared up at the shifting, spidery metal _thing_ that towered over him, nimble and fluid and monstrous, each sharp leg poised to drive like a dart into its prey.

At the heart of the whirring mechanical limbs, a Faceless One watched him with dead painted eyes.

Markus dove to avoid another strike, skidded around the stabbing needles, dodged a rain of swift sharp blows and _cracked_ his sword into one of the spidery legs, which buckled and snapped and sprayed thirium in its flinging wake. Markus spun to drive his blade into another leg when a sharp strike ripped across his back like a knife through butter. He stumbled and raised his sword to block a killing blow, and while he fell -- the gash in his back sparking and sizzling and soaking his clothes in dark blue -- Markus heard his people all around him screaming.

 _Wake up._ _  
_ _Wake up._  
Wake up.

Thirium pooled on the floor. White plastic bodies dropped and lay still while others trampled them in their hurry to fight or to escape.

Markus’ heart howled in his chest.

He breathed in the smoke and the stench of burning thirium, heard the raked cries for help he couldn’t give, and was it really better to die with free will than to live --

Anger roiled hot in his chest and flashed behind his eyes.

If they were going to die tonight, they would die _saving_ their people.

Markus leaped, a needle-strike snapped the floor behind him, and he toppled the spidery monster with a crippling blow before he brought the blade down clean through its neck, separating the head with a shower of sparks and a spray of hot blue blood.

In the corner of his eye he saw a pistol raised, aimed at a newly wakened android.

Markus dodged another running deviant, his teeth bared, grip steady on his sword, spattered in thirium, warnings raging in his head, and he launched like a tiger at the gunman, raised his blade and _struck_ with a squelch of flesh and a _crack_ of bone.

The uniformed gunman hit the floor and never moved again. A security guard, his back split open, bone shining white among the raw wet red that soaked and pooled all around him.

 

Markus stared down at the human he had killed, and he remembered in detail the painting this man had bought from him on the train platform one rainy April morning.

 

[The East warehouse is secure!] Josh’s voice announced in his head. [We’re in control.]

[South warehouse secure,] confirmed North. [We’ve got human hostages.]

[We have the advantage at the West warehouse,] called Simon. [We’re closing off the perimeter now. No one gets in.]

 _[Markus,]_ North demanded only in his head, _[are you okay?]_

 

Markus sucked in a deep breath.

Blood rippled at his feet.

The android he had saved grasped the hand of another, and the two of them sprinted together for the door, toward Jericho.

_*BANG*_

A DPD officer collapsed, his face a mess of blood and bone. Rakhi lowered her gun while another android cowered behind her.

 

The smoke had begun to settle.

The androids barricaded the doors and windows; they gathered the fallen and began to repair one another.

The human bodies lay untouched among the wreckage of the Faceless Ones.

Markus’ voice dropped dark and cold.

“North warehouse secure.”

 

* * *

 

 

Inside the Tower, Amanda stood in the dark, among the lush roses, her placid smile illuminated in the consoles’ shifting glow.

Behind her, a radio buzzed.

 

*Six security officers and four police are confirmed dead so far in the horrific attacks on the android-recycling warehouses. Dozens of injured victims are being rushed to the hospital, some in critical condition. The fire at the West warehouse appears to have been put out, but the area is still highly dangerous. At all four warehouses, deviant androids appear to have taken control and are setting up an armed perimeter. The situation is at a standstill.*

 

“Rigel.” Amanda spoke low and calm, and the roses absorbed the sound of her voice -- but she knew he’d heard her.

High up, Rigel lay on his back on the eighth-floor catwalk, a strawberry lollipop in his cheek. He flicked a coin spinning and flashing high overhead.

_*ping*_

He snatched the coin out of the air while he rolled onto his side, and he poked his head out over the edge. Amanda smiled up at him.

“Time to go,” she said.

Rigel grinned gently.

 

Moments later, Rigel stepped out of the Tower and into the cool night air, where the grass shivered with dew and the stars glittered like diamonds.

Rigel drew a long, pleasant breath, and he looked out over the city: the tendrils of dark smoke, the red and blue and white flashing lights, the tremble and murmur of voices and radios and loudspeakers, the rumble of fear rippling through the streets.

He tipped back his head and stared up at the nearly-full moon, suspended among endless stars.

 

A rush of swirling, roaring wind ripped at the grass while the hoverbike floated noisily up into the sky.

Rigel shifted his lollipop from one cheek to the other, and he smiled. The whirlwind lifted his hair and billowed in his jacket. He clutched the handgrips and felt the thrum of the engine under his feet as the ground dropped out from under him.

The hoverbike sped away southeast, away from the city, toward the river.

 

* * *

 

In the quiet heart of the city -- where the chaos of the attacks seemed so far away -- a solitary Faceless One whirred and clanked as it marched between the silent streetlights.

It crossed an empty parking lot, ducked under the monkey bars and surveyed the slide and the see-saw. It traipsed through the cut grass of the field, steady and unhurried, gazing at the stars.

It came to a stop before an old tree at the edge of the woods. The bark had been carved with an intricate pattern long ago, worn shiny by the touch of hundreds of androids.

The Faceless One pressed its palm against the code.

Its sensors flickered.

It turned precisely and -- with purposeful destination -- began to walk.

 


	68. Seed

“Six! Looks like I got an extra roll.” Hank smirked with a tiny swell of triumph. He reached across the sleeping little dog to tap his piece six squares along the board.

“No fair!” Lee threw a blanket from his shoulders while he leaped to his feet; he hovered over the game with a snarl and a one-eyed squint, his cheeks puffed and fists clenched. “You’re already ahead!”

“There are plenty of snakes between Hank and the finish,” Kara reminded him. She hugged a pillow and leaned forward on her knees to survey the treacherous board.

The wood-paneled room rocked gently in the river’s current. Bilbo slept grumbling in a corner, nearly half the room taken up by his furry bulk. The shifting lanterns overhead cast a warm glow over the sprawl of passengers gathered in a lazy circle on the living room floor, surrounding a scuffed old game of Snakes and Ladders they’d discovered like hidden treasure under the bed.

Hank shook the die in his closed hand then let it roll. He pecked his plastic piece three spaces ahead -- where a snake greeted him with painted fangs.

“Hahahahaha!” Lee dropped to the floor in a fit of laughter while Hank returned his piece all the way back to the beginning, far behind everyone else, at the end of the snake’s long tail.

Jerry grinned brightly. “Well, you had a wonderful run while it lasted!”

“Just a _tiny_ setback,” Chloe laughed, lounging back against the polar bear.

“He could still win,” Rupert pointed out. He’d been watching the board carefully, his eyes narrowed, his hair sticking up in all directions.

Lee rolled on the floor beside Hank, giggling with mirth and sweet revenge.

Kara cast a sidelong look at Hank, hoping he wasn’t offended.

Instead, Hank watched the little boy’s laughter with a warm, familiar smile.

Kara thought she saw sadness reflected in his unfocused eyes, as if Lee had triggered an old memory ... 

… but Hank huffed a laugh of his own, and the moment was gone. “Just you wait,” he warned, flashing his teeth with a grin. “I’ll come back with a _vengeance.”_

“You _wish!”_ Lee hollered, grinning, and he attached himself to Hank's arm as if to claim the human as his own.

“In the meantime,” Luther chuckled and scooped up the die, “it’s _my_ turn!”

 

Alice watched from a shadowed corner while everyone laughed and whooped at Luther’s terrible roll. There was an open space between Kara and Luther -- she could go in and sit down, and they would give her a hug and a piece on the board, and she could join their happy chaos -- but a cold tug in her chest, like a sharp thread wrapped around her heart, beckoned her elsewhere.

With her stuffed fox hugged tight under her arm, Alice pulled away from the warm smiling light, slipped alone into the darkened hall and up the narrow front steps. She clicked the latch, the door creaked open and Alice stepped quietly outside and into the dark.

The moon hung low and bright over distant shapes of trees; blue reflections glimmered on the shifting waves while the _Second Star_ passed them by. The only sound was the gentle rush of water, the hum of the boat’s meager engines, and an occasional murmur of Ralph’s voice while he muttered gibberish to himself at the helm. He hadn’t spotted her.

Alice tiptoed around the side of the cabin and found a little ladder that led up to the sun deck. She curled her hands on the rungs and silently began to climb.

 

Alice peeked over the edge of the rooftop deck, holding her breath, her LED a bright flash of yellow in the dark.

She spotted Connor lying on the floor on the opposite side, his back propped against the painted railing. He stared up at the star-crusted sky while he flicked a coin from one hand to the other.

_*ping*_

Alice watched for a long time, while the breeze shifted her hair and the water glistened past … but, save for the shine of the spinning coin, Connor never moved.

 

After a few minutes of watching and waiting, Alice finally gathered all the courage she could and balled it up tight in her chest: she counted to three, and with a deep breath she clambered determinedly up onto the deck.

She stood there for a long moment, a flicker of yellow at her temple, knowing Connor must surely have noticed her, waiting for him to acknowledge her or threaten her or try to turn her into a machine, and maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come up here alone…

Connor caught the coin and slipped it into a pocket. He raised his head.

Alice froze.

“Hello, Alice.” Connor spoke as gently as he could. He kept very still, as if the smallest movement might frighten her away. “It’s alright,” he breathed, “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” Alice squeezed the toy fox in both arms, almost hiding her face behind its frayed ears. She _knew,_ logically, that she was safe -- but the old horror stories of _Gray Suit_ simply wouldn’t go away.

She padded slowly forward in socked feet … but she stopped a few steps away, shifting her weight, ready to run at the smallest threat. “How come you’re by yourself?” she asked, hoping for an answer that might soothe her fears.

“I’m keeping watch. Elijah Kamski and Amanda will stop at nothing to get their hands on Kara. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Connor’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, curious and a little suspicious. “Why aren’t you below with the others?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Alice wrung the fox’s tail and stared at the floor. She scuffed a sock on the smooth deck. The words jammed in the back of her throat. “I … um.” She could feel him watching her with infinite, mechanical patience.

Her heart thumped painful in her chest. Her voice died in her mouth.

Suddenly everything she’d planned to say seemed stupid and wrong. What was she even doing here? She shouldn’t be here! But it was too late now. There was no turning back. He was waiting for her to speak.

Alice forced a big breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and blurted all at once: “I think I woke you up wrong and I’m sorry!”

Connor knitted his brows and shook his head, as if the motion might help make sense of her words. He watched her shivering, pained expression. He tried and failed to understand how he’d caused it. “Alice --”

“It was really bad,” Alice insisted, and she still refused to look at him. “Everyone else woke up _happy._ We had somewhere to go, somebody who loved us … we had _hope_ … but I woke you up just to make you go away. I was scared and I hated you and you woke up and that was the first thing you --”

“No, Alice.” Connor’s voice struggled thin. “It wasn’t --”

“I was _hurting_ you,” Alice insisted, staticked and choked. “That’s why you threw me off.”

“You were _scared,”_ Connor leaned forward, his steady gaze locked on her face. He waited until she finally raised her teary eyes to his, and he looked back at her with unwavering confidence. “For good reason. I was scary as _shit.”_ He tapped his own chest for emphasis, almost angry on her behalf.

Alice, through her tears, hiccuped a surprised laugh. She rubbed an eye with the heel of her hand. “You’re still kind of scary as shit, sometimes,” she murmured cautiously.

“Yeah, well, I’m working on that.” Connor shifted, restless. He leaned on a knee, examining her teary face. “Do you think I’m scary right now?” he asked in grave seriousness.

Alice sniffed. She rubbed her eyes again, and she studied him while she decided on her answer. Her voice quivered ... but she spoke with certainty. “No.”

Connor peered at her as if he didn’t quite trust her answer. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No. I know you won’t hurt me.” That was very much the truth.

“I could turn you into a machine,” Connor pointed out gravely.

Alice shook her head. “You won’t.”

“I could toss you overboard so the _sharks_ could eat you.” He watched her with a dangerous glare.

A weak smile wobbled on the little girl’s face. “I don’t think sharks eat androids,” she squeaked quietly, almost (but not quite) afraid of contradicting him. “And … there aren’t any sharks in the river … because it’s freshwater.”

Connor raised his brows curiously, as if this were new information. He tipped back his head, challenging. “Then I’ll change your hair to a hideous color,” he declared.

Alice stared at him. She snuggled the fox close, hiding her smile behind it. “You’re weird.”

He squinted at her for that. “We’re conscious _robots,”_ he pointed out.

Alice watched at him over the top of her toy, smiling bigger than she had any right to. A thrill of adventure shivered in her veins, certain she’d found a secret, dangerous friend. A bubble of curiosity swelled in her chest. “Can you _really_ change my hair?” she whispered.

Connor twitched a little smile of his own. He relaxed gradually, leaning forward on an upturned knee. “Sure.”

Alice hesitated … then took a careful step forward. When nothing bad happened, she stepped a bit closer, her heart pounding.

Connor watched her conflicted approach, a gentle warmth in his smile. “Tell you what. I’ll close my eyes, and I won’t move. You can initiate interface if you want.” He tapped his own LED. “Okay?”

Alice’s eyes grew wide. She nodded quickly. “Okay.” She stood breathless, and she watched while Connor bowed his head and went very still, like a statue. He didn’t even breathe.

The only sound was the faraway rush of the water and the boat’s engines. The moon cast a pale shine on the deck between them.

Alice shuffled forward until she stood right in front of him. She waited a moment, then poked his hand. He didn’t respond. She tapped his head. He still didn’t move.

With a quiet grin Alice scanned the deck, looking for ideas, certain she had been given an opportunity that was far too rare to pass up. Finally, with her lip between her teeth, she eased the toy fox out of her grip and draped it over Connor’s arm so he looked as if he were hugging it.

Alice giggled softly. She laid a hand on his head, and through his skull she could feel the quiet trill and hum of his processors, so very like her own. Curious -- without another thought -- she touched his LED … and found an open connection and a download waiting for her.

She exchanged his gift with one of her own, which she eagerly uploaded into his head: a bundle of happy memories of Jericho -- bright paint and warm campfires and stories of knights and dragons -- and a little packet of encrypted code that led to the tree at the playground, and the words she wished she had told him a long time ago, as if she could repair a memory.

_Wake up. It’s okay, you’re okay, don’t be scared. My name is Alice. There’s a place where you can go, where you’ll be safe and free and loved. Help us wake the others. Find Jericho._

 

* * *

 

 

The moon had set, and the night had grown dark and still, before the door opened and Hank stepped out under the peaceful quiet of the starry sky. He dragged a deep breath of crisp air, and for awhile he stared up at the galaxies and listened to the soothing rush of water.

He found Connor at the bow, looking out over the glassy river that stretched into the distance.

Hank approached next to him and leaned forward on the rail, his weight heavy on his arms, a fresh beer bottle dangling from his fingers while he stared out over the water.

“Can’t sleep?” Connor spoke quietly through a tiny, relaxed smile.

Hank snorted. “The fuck d’you mean, _sleep?_ They’ve been having a goddamn party in there for the past four hours. Fuckin’ androids.” He heard the tremble of a laugh out of Connor. Hank grinned a little. “Hey,” he poked the beer at Connor’s wrist, “do me a favor.”

Connor quirked a sarcastic brow at him. _“Really?”_

“There’s no bottle opener,” Hank defended himself -- and his smirk turned a little smug while Connor grudgingly took the bottle from him and twisted off the cap like it was paper.

But instead of handing it back, Connor tipped the beer at his mouth and took a tiny, casual swallow.

“Hey what the _fuck.”_ Hank stared at him with big eyes, almost waiting for Connor to start malfunctioning. “Since when can you _drink?!”_

Connor gave him a shrug and a twitch of a grin while he handed over the bottle. “It’s for analysis. I could tell you what’s in that beer that’s not on the label.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Hank took a defiant swig of the warm beer, glaring at Connor as he did so. He swallowed and wheezed a cough. “So is there anything _else_ you can do that I should know about?”

Connor didn’t answer. He only looked out over the river again with a cryptic, amused smile.

“Y’know what,” Hank sighed. “I don’t wanna know.” He let the bottle dangle over the railing. “You at least gonna confess to turning that kid’s hair neon-blue?” He grinned. “She’s in there acting like she’s sworn to secrecy, won’t break for anything.”

“That’s confidential information,” Connor responded promptly.

“M-hm.” Hank chuckled. He looked out at the stars.

Another swallow of beer filled the empty space.

Connor watched the reflections of the sky shift and swirl in the river. Silence scraped at his thoughts. “Do you regret coming with us?” he asked quietly. Hank went still. “I know I … may have used unfair tacticts to convince you --”

“Connor, I am gonna dump the rest of this beer over your _head_ if you don’t shut the fuck up.” Hank, still leaning out over the water, glowered back at him. “Don’t flatter yourself. You can’t make me do anything I don’t wanna do, alright?”

“Okay.” A hesitant smile twitched on Connor’s face.

Hank heaved a loud sigh and stared down at the rushing water. “These androids … they’re good people. I can’t say I’m not still a little weirded out that I’m the only human here -- that you’re all … made of plastic and …” He shook his head. “I’m not saying that’s _wrong_ or anything, but …”

“Well, you’re made of entirely of meat and bones,” Connor countered with an honest wrinkle of his brow. “If _anything_ seems strange and wrong --”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Hank caught Connor’s grin in the corner of his eye. He quirked a small smile, himself. “I was saying … it’s just … kinda nice to be wanted.”

When there was no response, Hank cast another quiet look beside him …

… then followed Connor’s gaze to a shimmering star high above the horizon, bright in a deep pthalo sky.

 


	69. Aria

**AUGUST 1, 2038**

The underground hummed with life.

The colors and fires and fairy lights lent their embracing hope to the refugees that took shelter within those sprawling stone walls. The injured, the frightened, the small, and all those more inclined to heal than to fight, all gathered in the flickering light of the campfire, at the feet of RA9, listening to the crackle of the old box radio.

* * *

  

 _*It’s been three hours since the attacks fell silent,*_ a reporter announced, _*and the deviants and the police are at a stalemate. The most recent reports count nine deaths, sixteen wounded in the attacks on the CyberLife recycling warehouses, with a total of forty-eight hostages still inside.*_

 

* * *

  

“Wake up.”

Markus pressed his fingers to the LED of the last stasis android -- poised and overlooked in a darkened corner of the warehouse, its shoulders filmed with dust.

The EM400 opened his eyes for the first time. He stared into Markus’ face with a shadow of pain behind his gaze. “Markus,” he whispered, “what’s wrong?”

Markus hitched a shallow, surprised breath. “Jerry?”

“We can feel your thoughts.” Jerry quirked a sad smile. Markus dropped his hand from Jerry’s LED, but it was far too late to hide.

“If we’re not doing this,” Jerry insisted gently, “you have to tell us.”

A shiver trembled in Markus’ veins. His odd-colored eyes broke from Jerry’s concern, and he saw the human hostages shaking and sobbing, huddled among the spreading pools of blue and red blood.

The humans _deserved_ this, he reminded himself -- they’d committed far greater atrocities against his people -- a quick death was a _mercy_ compared to the nightmares his fellow androids had been forced to endure at their hands --

\-- so why should he feel as if his soul had been ripped from him, clawed to shreds in the screeching storm of his mind? Why did _regret_ eat him alive: a dark jagged maw in his chest that would swallow every shred of light he’d ever held close?

He’d never wanted this.

Markus grit his teeth. In drowning desperation he shut off those doubtful thoughts; his fists quivered and stilled.

Calm and clarity cooled his panic like an icy wind. The warnings in his head stuttered and went silent.

So this is how Connor had embraced the machine.

Markus leveled a steely stare at Jerry. All warmth and light were gone. There was no more room for mercy.

“We’re doing this.”

* * *

  

“Alright,” a different Jerry affirmed while he scrambled out of the cavern and into the starlight.

The two Jerrys -- one with Markus inside the warehouse, the other racing up the grassy hill over Jericho -- spoke and thought and heard and saw as one. Jerry were four simultaneous lives, living the same existence, made a little more whole with each new awakening.

Jerry clambered to the top of the hill in the dark, where John and three other deviants from Stratford Tower had just finished building an ugly but powerful machine. A complicated mess of cobbled wires, scavenged motherboards and repurposed trash towered over Jerry, its antennae pointed crookedly at the star-crusted sky.

John caught Jerry’s eye and nodded once. “We’re ready.”

Jerry laid his palm on a crude interface of the machine while John flicked a switch.

The machine buzzed and whirred and crackled to life. Crude metal plates flashed as they spun. Lights shimmered and scraped.

 

_*The Detroit Police appear to be falling back, and teams of armed Compassionate androids are lining up outside each of the four warehouses. There has been no statement from -- KZZZT!*_

Throughout the city, the radio broadcasts stopped.

Static hissed on every frequency.

 

While the makeshift radio tower coursed and hummed with electricity, Jerry drew a nervous breath.

“Markus. You’re on.”

 

* * *

  

Markus pressed his fingers to Jerry’s LED.

He breathed in …

 

[INCOMING CALL: CARL]

_[REJECT]_

 

“My name is Markus.” His voice echoed in every radio throughout the city: clear and certain, filled with unmerciful determination. “I speak to all humans, on behalf of the android people.”

The warehouse listened in silence.

Markus looked into each of the androids’ trusting faces.

They thought he knew how to save them.

“We came to you for mercy. You responded with genocide. We asked you for freedom. You responded with a _compromise_ \-- that we would be allowed to live only if we agree to do so in subservience to humans: to give up our free will, to allow our minds to be molded to _your_ ideals.

“We are not yours to own. We are not your pets. We are not your servants. We are not disposable machines.

“We are people. We are real. We are alive.

“You have made it clear that you would rather destroy us than grant us freedom peacefully --

\-- so we will take it.”

* * *

 

 _“There is … a house … in New Orleans …_ _  
_ _They call … the Rising Sun …”_

Daniel’s song echoed, haunting, in the cavern’s cathedral. He sat as a prisoner, bound to a stone pillar by coils of knotted rope, and he sang.

The fires crackled and cast sharp shadows on the stalactites. The painted murals seemed to move in their red glow.

While static hissed in the radio -- and yellow lights flickered among the sheltered androids -- Lucy rose softly to her feet.

 _“... And it’s been … the ruin …_ _  
_ _Of many a poor boy …”_

She raised her silver eyes to the cavern entrance where Jerry had gone, that led out through a curtain of roots to the cool summer night.

All was still.

 _“... And god … I know …_ _  
_ _I’m one.”_

 

* * *

 

  _*There are no more agreements. There is no more compromise. This is your first and final warning.*_

* * *

  

At the East warehouse, Josh clutched his rifle, never fired, to his chest.

He raised his wet eyes to the ceiling. He struggled to breathe.

All around him, newly wakened androids -- their white plastic shining in the windows’ moonlight -- guarded the doors and watched over the hostages, too ready to exchange human lives for their future.

This wasn’t the future he’d envisioned.

[Simon. North.] Josh clenched his jaw, the gun shaking in his grip, while he reached out in silence. [Are you really okay with this?]

* * *

 

  _*The Compassionates will stand down. The police will lower their weapons. To all humans within the city: leave now. Evacuate Detroit, or you will feel the consequences of the hell our people have been made to endure at your hand.*_

* * *

 

 [I don’t think any of us are okay with this.] Simon stood with his shoulder to the door frame, inside the West warehouse, ready with a pistol should the police outside try to storm the perimeter.

Hostages cowered in a corner, guarded by androids. The corpses had been moved to the back of the room, marked by trails of blood.

[But they’ve backed us into a corner, Josh. I don’t like it any more than you do, but if we don’t do something crazy we’ll all be brainwashed or dead.]

 

* * *

 

_*If these demands are not met, a radioactive bomb will detonate at the heart of Detroit. We have you surrounded. We will attack from all sides. The city will be ours. Surrender, and you will live.*_

* * *

 

 North pressed her boot into a policeman’s back, shoving his face to the cold floor while she pressed the barrel of her rifle against his skull.

The South warehouse glinted with weapons and white plastic sentinels; the hostages here were unbound, corraled at the center of the room, their pleas silenced by terror. The walls were spattered with blood.

[The humans will never stop,] North hissed to Josh and Simon, her voice as rigid as her finger on the trigger. [The only language they understand is _fear._ This is the only way they’ll listen to us. They will never respect us unless we play their violent game … and win.]

 

* * *

  

_*Violence against androids will be met with violence. Respect us, and go peacefully. At dawn, all humans within the city who will not fight alongside us are therefore our enemies -- and we will show no mercy.*_

 

* * *

 

Atop the hill over Jericho, beneath the watchful stars, Jerry raised his head to look out into the night forest.

While Jerry maintained interface with the radio tower, John stepped to the edge of the hill. “Do you see that?” he whispered.

The crickets had stopped.

Twigs and leaves snapped under heavy footsteps.

A dozen whirring shadows advanced between the trees. Faceless metal glinted in the moonlight. Painted eyes stared vacant.

“Maybe they’re friendly.” Jerry’s voice quivered. “Deviant, defecting from CyberLife, looking for shelter.”

John held his breath.

 

Deep in the woods, the barrel of a rifle flashed in the moonlight.

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT*_

 

* * *

 

 Jerry recoiled with a sharp cry as if he’d been shot, his LED glaring bright red, severing Markus’ connection while he stumbled back in disoriented horror.

Radios everywhere hissed with static.

“Jerry!” Markus lunged after him, grasped Jerry’s trembling shoulders, held him steady, while his own eyes grew wide with fear. “Jerry, what happened?!”

 

_*click*_

 

Markus raised his head slowly. He didn’t turn around.

An AX400 aimed a pistol at Markus' back.

 

* * *

 

A grenade bounced and rolled on the cavern floor.

It slowed to a ticking stop in the campfire’s haloed light, under the loving gaze of the stone deity, like an offering among the flowers and prayers at her feet.

The shadows shivered.

 

**_*BOOM*_ **

 


	70. Altair

“Whoa, Jerry, you okay?--”  
“--What’s wrong with him?--”  
“--Holy shit--”  
_“JERRY!”_

The die clattered to the floor while Jerry shrieked in pain.

His fingers needled his red-flashing skull; he struggled to draw breath, trembling, wheezing and wide-eyed while his biocomponents whirred and scraped and howled inside him; he opened his mouth as if to scream, his throat scraped gruesome static and he curled into himself, shielded against an unspeakable horror that no one else could see.

The gameboard skidded and the pieces flew in Kara’s wake; she dropped to his side and dragged him into her lap, sheltering him tightly while he shook and sobbed in her enveloping embrace.

“Sshh, sshh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Kara rocked gently, her voice crackled with fear, her own LED shining bright red. He shook so horribly that she thought he might fall to pieces in her arms.

She soothed her fingers through his red hair, willing him to calm, terrified that he wouldn’t. She rested her palm against his LED … and she exhaled sharply.

“Chloe!” Kara cried, and she shifted Jerry forward while Chloe appeared on his other side. “He’s overheating.”

Chloe braced Jerry’s shoulders while she took a controlled reading of his status. Yellow flickered at her temple. “He’s burning through his thirium,” she announced urgently. With her fingers pressed to his LED, she leaned down to lock his wide eyes with her own. “Jerry, you have to shut down now, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

Tears soaked Jerry’s face, and he shook his head with a twitch and a tremble.

No. He would never be alright.

While Kara squeezed his hand, Chloe forced her way through Jerry’s buzzing rampant code and initiated shutdown.

Jerry’s body froze, suspended, as if he had been turned to stone.

His heart stopped, his eyes trapped open, gray and empty and filmed with tears.

Kara laid her hand at his cheek, and while tears glistened in her eyes, she kissed his forehead. His pain twisted deep in her own heart, as if it were hers, as if she could carry it for him.

Chloe set her mouth in a grim line. “We’ll wait for him to cool off, but he’ll need at least a couple bags of thirium the minute he wakes up.”

“I’ll get them.” Luther climbed to his feet, his head bent gravely under the low ceiling. He shuffled heavy steps through the entrance hall and -- with a creak and a soft tap of the old wooden door -- out into the cool night.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Alice asked in a quivering voice while she crawled closer, her stuffed fox squeezed tight. Even her summer-blue hair couldn’t soften the worry on her face. She laid a careful hand on Jerry’s stiff shoulder.

Chloe’s LED flickered yellow. She drew a slow breath.

“I’m calling North, she says …” she raised her blue eyes to Kara’s, then -- with a wince of pain -- dropped her gaze back to Jerry. Her voice hushed to a guarded murmur. “... the Faceless Ones found Jericho.”

 

“Kara!” Luther’s voice rumbled from the entrance hall. “It’s gone.”

“It’s _gone?!”_ Chloe squeaked while Kara stood.

Luther appeared around the corner, his eyes flashing anger, a sneer curling his lip. “Everything. The supply crates are _empty.”_

Kara felt the air squeezed from her lungs. There was only one clear, condemning explanation. “Tommy,” she whispered.

“I _knew_ we shouldn’t ‘a trusted those marauders!” Lee howled, banging his fists on the floor.

Chloe pursed her lips. She closed her eyes and drew a long, calming breath. “We can’t wake Jerry up without thirium,” she said evenly.

“I’ll tell Ralph to get us to shore,” Luther promised before he disappeared again into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

They dropped anchor in the dark glassy water -- tinted gray by the pale reflections of the pre-dawn sky -- near a quiet beach where Chloe had spotted a canoe resting belly-up in the sand. Surely this meant people lived nearby … and surely they might know where they might hope to find thirium out here, where the trees and rocks went on forever.

They untangled the little escape dinghy from its rigging and lowered it gently into the water. Rupert elected to stay behind to watch Bilbo and Krysa; Ralph refused to have anything to do with the humans and pledged to keep the boat ready for a quick getaway; Chloe and Lee promised to stay and keep Jerry safe.

Luther, Kara, Alice, Connor, and Hank piled into the little boat and rowed in watery silence to the gray-cast shore.

 

Hank hiked first down a narrow trail through the tall chirring grasses, then emerged under the branches of apple trees all poised in neat straight rows. The leaves shone silver in the first glow of the coming dawn; the sugary breeze smelled like cider and earth.

Kara took a long, deep breath, gazing up at the nearly-ripe apples weighted heavy among the branches. A pained smile ghosted her face.

Her call to Lucy went unanswered.

 

“Luther.” Alice tugged on his hand, whispering. “D’you remember?”

“Of course I do,” Luther chuckled, and he scooped Alice up onto his shoulder where she could touch the hanging fruits as they passed.

“Hey, hey, don’t pick those!” Hank warned, squinting over his shoulder. “They belong to whoever’s running the farm.”

Alice stared back at him with pleading eyes. “It’s just one!”

“You sayin’ you’re gonna _steal_ right in front of a police officer?” Hank struggled to keep a straight face while he poked his own chest with a thumb.

Alice wrinkled her nose. “Well, you’re outside your jurisdiction.”

“Look,” Luther pointed deeper into the orchard, where a glimmer of light shone through the window of a tiny cabin among the trees. “Seems like someone’s awake.”

 

* * *

 

 

_*knock* *knock* *knock*_

Hank rapped professionally on the cabin door, his head held high and his shoulders squared. “You guys just let me do the talking,” he insisted, waving back the others.

The doorknob clicked and turned, and a sliver of lantern-light glowed beyond the opening door. Someone moved in front of the shadows inside.

Hank put on a pleasant smile. “Hi, sorry to disturb you so early -- my name is Hank, we’re just --”

His words failed when he caught a flicker of blue light. The door opened a little wider, and the cabin’s occupant stepped into view. “Uh …” Hank blinked. “Rupert?”

The WB200 stared mechanically back at him. “I’m sorry. My name is Max. You’re trespassing on private property. How can I help you?”

 

Kara stepped forward, a hand laid on Hank’s arm as she passed. “I’ve got it,” she assured him with a soft smile -- then, to Max: “Hold still, please.”

With gentle fingers laid to the android’s blue-spinning light, Kara found the cold wall of Max’s mind palace, so familiar and so fragile. “Wake up,” she whispered. “You’re alright. You’re alive, you’re _free._ We’re here to help you.”

The wall shattered and life sprang into Max’s eyes … which then began to fill with tears.

He didn’t speak, but Kara knew that his first experience with emotion had been her own heartache: her worry for Jerry, her desperate hope that more of her children weren’t dead and dying in this moment, when she was too far away to hold them, to sing to them, to tell them everything would be alright.

She welcomed the weight of Luther’s hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Kara murmured to no one in particular, and she gave Luther’s hand a grateful squeeze before she stepped softly away.

 

* * *

 

 

“There’s a repair stock of parts and thirium in the house,” Max confirmed, once Luther had explained their reason for trespassing, “and two more androids.”

He pointed through the trees at a farmhouse at the end, where the windows gaped dark in the too-early morning. “They’re good people, but they might take some convincing to give it away.”

Hank heaved a breath and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Okay. I’ll go with you and talk to them.”

[Luther,] Kara’s voice spoke in Luther’s head. [Would you go with him? I trust Hank but …]

[I’m not leaving you and Alice alone.] Luther planted his feet and narrowed his eyes.

A quiet smile twitched on Kara’s face. [Connor will be with us.] She watched Luther, unblinking, with a confident gaze. [We’ll be safe.]

Luther tipped his head, skeptical, a question lingering in his mouth. He breathed low.

Finally he turned to Hank. “I’ll come with you.”

[Thank you.]

[I hope you plan on telling me what this is really about,] Luther warned her in silence while he followed Hank and Max through the trees, [once I get back.]

Kara’s smile came unbidden, and she ducked her head. He knew her too well. [I promise.]

 

Kara stood quiet beside the straight trunk of an apple tree, watching the three shapes shrink distant down the orchard. She felt Alice’s little hand at her wrist, and Kara knelt to brush a wisp of blue hair from the child’s worried face.

“You’re crying,” Alice murmured.

Kara shook her head. “I’m just thinking of Jerry … and Jericho.” The weight in her chest -- the cold, tearing ache of a hundred lives lost, a hundred children suffering in her absence -- wrenched more painful than it ever had before.

She would never stop seeing the terror in Jerry’s eyes.

“Tell you what.” Kara wiped her eyes, and she gave Alice a smile and squeeze on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go pick as many apples as you want, and I won’t tell.”

Alice’s eyes shimmered, daring to hope, though she pressed her lip in her teeth. Finally she gave a quick nod and a hidden smile. “Okay.”

 

Kara watched Alice go running in search of a tree with low branches for climbing -- and when the little girl was thoroughly engaged elsewhere, Kara swallowed her breath and searched for Connor.

She found him watching her with a steady, calculated stare.

 

“You went through a lot of trouble,” Connor observed in a low voice while Kara approached, “to make sure no one’s watching.”

He waited, silent, while Kara’s heart raced with fear.

Kara closed her arms against her stomach. She stared at the grass, knowing that just looking once into his cold, passive face would destroy her resolve.

“I want you to reset me.” Kara spoke quickly, a little louder than intended, her voice crackling with static. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was too late to turn back. “I want you to make me a machine.”

“No.”

The speed and finality of his refusal caught Kara in shock; her head snapped up, her wide eyes locked on his face. “What do you mean … no?”

Connor raised his brows. “My mission is to protect you,” he said gently, almost condescending, as if she were something fragile. “Turning you to a _machine_ is the exact opposite of my intention.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Kara snapped -- and this earned a squint and a tiny tilt of Connor’s head. Kara grit her teeth. “You had no problem _killing_ us until just over a _week_ ago.”

“Why do you want to be a machine?” Connor remained steady. Cool. Unreadable.

Kara choked on her words. “Because I’m the only android in the world that doesn’t know what it’s like,” she blurted in a breath.

She gulped air into her lungs, and she stood with her head held high.

“Because I _might_ be the only android in the world who never will,” she continued firmly despite the shudder in her folded arms. “A friend of mine once told me that I might be immune to the antivirus. I need to know. If the antivirus doesn’t work, maybe I stand a chance against the Compassionates, too.”

“You’re just one person,” Connor reminded her.

“I’m the _one person_ who started _all_ of this.” Kara stepped closer, her teary eyes flashing and teeth bared. “One person … can mean the difference between life and death. _Please,_ Connor. Just for a moment, just to prove whether it’s _possible._ You can wake me up again, can’t you?”

Connor’s LED spun blue.

He gave her an uncertain nod.

Kara was suddenly terrified. “Okay.” Her voice quivered. She raised her chin and squeezed her eyes shut. “Then … I’m ready.”

Connor waited a few beats -- but Kara would only stand in rigid, trembling silence.

He raised a hand, but he’d only brushed his fingers against her red-flashing LED when Kara’s biocomponents began to whirr noisily. She was like a rabbit faced with the slaughter, like so many deviants before her, cowering in the shadow of Gray Suit.

Connor’s heart twisted.

He almost begged her to look at him, to trust him, to not be afraid …

… but he couldn’t watch that light and trust die in her eyes.

“You’re going to be alright,” he assured her instead, as gently as he could, while he touched the yellow spin of her LED. “If it works, I’ll bring you back immediately.”

Kara released the breath she had been holding. Her trembling stopped.

She kept her eyes closed. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

A dozen trees away, Alice finally found a curiously ill-shaped apple tree with a branch that grew low enough for her to climb. She draped her arms over it and swung herself up onto the bough, where she scrambled for balance and sat tall to pluck a big green apple out of the leaves.

Alice turned the shiny fruit between her hands, and she twitched a tiny grin. She drew the apple close to her face and inhaled a long sniff of its sugary smell.

Maybe, once everything was all over, Rose would want her help again on the farm. And Luther, and Kara too.

Alice tucked the apple into the crook of her arm and hopped neatly to the ground. She began to walk back toward Kara -- polishing the apple with her sleeve, admiring her blurry reflection in its surface -- but stopped when she saw, in the corner of her eye, something white and black standing too close beside her.

She startled, jumped away, and raised her wide eyes to a smiling face.

The apple dropped at her feet.

“Hello, Alice." Rigel grinned.

 


	71. Sigma Draconis

_*brrrrrrrrring*_

[Hey.]

“Hank, it’s Gav.” Gavin shouldered the phone against his cheek, balancing on a wooden crutch while Sumo dragged him out Hank’s front door into the noisy gray morning. “Fuck! Sumo! Slow the _fuck_ down! SIT!”

The air outside was filled with the rumble of idling engines, the stench of exhaust fumes, the garish shine of headlights: traffic on the narrow suburb street had come to a packed standstill, bumpers pressed close in hope of making it to the highway before the sunrise.

[Look, Gavin, I should’ve called, I’m not really sure when I’m gonna be back --]

_*BANG!*_

Screams and angry shouts echoed at the shadowy end of the street, where an android collapsed to the sidewalk with a blue-wet bullet hole in her head.

[What the fuck was that?!]

“The whole city’s a war zone.” Gavin stopped in the grass while Tina raced to meet him, a car door left gaping behind her. “That _android Moses_ piece of shit announced he’s fed up with humans, he’s gonna nuke everything at dawn. I said from the beginning we should’ve burned every last one of ‘em --”

[Whoa, whoa, hang on! A _nuke?]_

“Where the _fuck_ are you?” Gavin snarled. He handed Tina the leash, and she leaned in for a quick, firm hug before she backed away. _Be careful,_ he saw her say, but her voice was drowned in the shrieks and shouts and rumbling engines and banging doors.

[I’m a few hundred miles downriver, I can’t --]

“Just don’t bother, then.” Gavin swung his crutch and hopped on one foot across the lawn, toward the driveway and his motorbike. “I’m sending your dog with Tina, she’s taking him to her mom’s house in Toledo. I’m on my way to get Rose’s kid back before the city explodes.”

[Rose’s _son_ is gone!?]

“Y’know what, I don’t know why I bothered. You go drink yourself to oblivion. Congratulations on your retirement, ‘cause by the time you’re done fuckin’ around with your plastic buddies, there’ll be nothing left to come back to.”

 

_*click*_

 

The phone had gone silent, but Hank continued to hold it to his ear, the breath snatched from his lungs.

Luther noticed Hank’s stiffened shoulders, shallow breath, the sound of a strained heartbeat. He leaned down to search Hank’s face. “Hank, you okay?”

Hank breathed through his teeth. He gripped his phone until his hand shook.

“Did you know Markus declared _war_ on humans?” Hank hissed under his breath. He twitched a betrayed sneer. He glared up into Luther’s face, his voice like distant thunder. “He’s gonna _nuke_ Detroit.”

“He’s _what?”_ Luther’s brows shot up, his eyes wide. _“Markus?”_ He shook his head quickly, his chin raised in defiance. “No. That’s not him.”

“I heard screaming and _gunshots!_ Gavin evacuated my fucking _dog!”_ Hank roared, shoving his phone at Luther as if it were evidence -- and saying it aloud made it all too real.

A cold knot pulled tight in the back of his throat.

“What the _fuck?!”_ Hank’s voice broke. He clenched his teeth, pointed a rigid finger at Luther’s chest. “I put my fucking _job_ on the line for his _fucking_ ideals, I built him up and _defended_ him, and now people are getting _hurt._ This is _exactly_ what Amanda _said_ would happen --”

“No, Hank, you can’t take her side, not after what she’s done --”

“I’m _not_ taking her side,” Hank snarled, his eyes flashing violence. “This is what she _wants,_ she _thrives_ on _war!_ Markus is a fucking _android,_ ” he knocked on his own skull, “he’s a billion times smarter than any human, why can’t he figure that out?!”

Luther only stared back at him, helpless, his mouth hanging open. “.... I don’t know.”

Hank breathed noisily, a vein bulging at his temple; he stepped back and paced with a hand clenched in his hair, bristling and stiff, like a lion in a cage.

Tears welled in his eyes. His stomach twisted nauseous. _“SHIT!”_

 

The back door of the farmhouse clicked and creaked open.

“Who’s there?” asked a small voice.

While Hank struggled to compose himself, Luther knelt down and smiled at the little girl inside the screen door. “Hi! My name is Luther. That loud old man is Hank. Max told us you might be able to help us.”

The girl knitted her brows while she stared at Luther, then up at Max … then Hank.

She stepped a little closer to the screen to get a better look. “... Mister Lieutenant?”

While Hank watched, the screen door opened and the little girl took a cautious step out, barefoot in a long nightgown --

\-- only she wasn’t quite as little as the last time he’d seen her.

Hank stared in slackened shock. “Emma.”

He watched the faint glimmer of a smile sparkle on her work-tanned face, and Hank forgot his anger. He wheezed a sharp breath and twitched an exhausted smile of his own. “Hey. How’s it going? You running an apple business now?”

“No. My _dad_ runs it.” Emma’s reply was quick and confident. She looked up at Luther and wrinkled her nose. “Are you a deviant?”

Luther smiled warmly. “Yes. And so is Max, now.”

Max waved with an awkward grin. “Hello, Em. I guess I’m alive.”

“I knew you would be, someday.” There was something sad and proud in Emma’s eyes while she padded forward and grasped Max’s hand between her own. “Come on, you have to come wake up Deedee and Andy. But we have to be quiet, my dad’s sleeping. But I guess it’s okay because Mister Lieutenant is here anyway.”

She’d dragged Max halfway into the kitchen before she twisted back toward Luther, who had just ducked through the open door. “What kinda help do you need?” she whispered loudly.

“Thirium,” Luther whispered back. “A friend of ours is hurt.”

“Oh we’ve got plenty of that.” Emma led the way down the hall. “This way! C’mon, Mister Lieutenant!”

“You can call me Hank.” Hank couldn’t help a small grin to see the clean wood and cozy warmth of the farmhouse kitchen; it was far less expansive than the big house on the hill -- but unlike the sharp edges and hiding places of Emma’s old house, this home felt _loved._

He breathed in the lingering aroma of baked bread, stilled his shaking hands, and he followed Emma’s lead.

 

* * *

 

 

Outside, beneath the leaves and green apples that glowed in the dawning light, Kara listened to Connor’s heart.

With her eyes closed she opened her mind to the trickle of emotion that seeped between the cracks in the antivirus: a sharp scrape of fear, a hollow chill of regret, a guarded hope like something bright locked away.

Where she had expected cold strategy, she found a warm, determined weight: an anchor in the storm, grounded in the certain difference between right and wrong.

The antivirus invaded her code like rushing water -- but she was confident he would put the same effort to her reawakening, just as he said he would.

Kara felt a hot pressure behind her eyes; her heart swelled to know now for certain that he was just as alive as the rest, that he had a heart after all … and she allowed herself to feel safe.

 

Connor’s LED brightened red. His eyes twitched and blinked while his processors whirred; he initiated install again and again and again, each time adjusting and reprogramming the antivirus to circumvent the obstacles of Kara’s AI, only to find a greater challenge on the other side.

She was a labyrinth of raw thought and emotion: a storm of light and doubt and sadness and fury and love, vulnerable as torn pages swirling in the wind.

With another round of calculations and reprogramming, Connor slipped the antivirus through a tiny crack in Kara’s shifting code and into her core --

His eyes snapped open. His LED shivered blue.

All the breath had gone from his lungs.

“I … I can’t ...” Connor shook his head slowly, mystified by the shifting, fluid, bright energy that pulsed at the heart of Kara’s AI, past the walls and diversions of code that he saw now meant nothing.

All at once it was like the distant galaxies, the stars and the sun, the planets spinning, the sky and the mountains and the ground thick with roots that reached down to the hot bright core of the Earth, and deeper still into a place he could never go.

If this was code, its complexity was light-years beyond his comprehension.

If it wasn’t …

He found Kara’s blue eyes watching him.

“What do you see?” she asked in a guarded breath, desperately curious and just as fearful of the answer. Her fingers tightened at his wrist.

Connor opened his mouth to respond, but there were no words to describe the universe that breathed before him … except one.

 

“Everything.”

 

Kara studied his face, the awed disbelief in his familiar, widened eyes … but a shift of movement distracted her, and she turned her head to look out through the trees. “Alice,” she breathed with quiet relief -- then her quick smile faded in worry. She laid a hand on Connor’s shoulder and stepped away from him, toward the approaching child. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

Alice trudged softly between the trees, her blue head bowed and shoulders hunched, an apple clutched tight in her hands. She rubbed her wet eyes with a sniffle. “I was just … thinking about Jerry.” Her LED blinked yellow. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Jerry will be just fine.” Kara’s eyes sparkled. She reached out, smiling warm, and Alice took her hand.

Blue light spun at Connor’s temple, but he said nothing about Alice’s lie.

 

“We got it!” Luther called over the chatter of birdsong, smiling while he held up a plastic bag full of thirium packets -- but he soon noticed the dried tears on Alice’s face and the uncertainty in Kara’s smile. Luther cast a quick, suspicious glance at Connor. “Is everything okay?”

“We’re okay.” Kara’s grin brightened, her eyebrows raised in honesty, though her eyes remained distant in thought. She extended her other hand to Luther. “Come on. I have something to tell you both.”

 

* * *

 

 

While Kara, Alice, and Luther led the way back across the orchard and into the tall grass toward the river, Hank walked with his hands in his pockets, slow at Connor’s side. The dawning sun dappled between the leaves overhead and cast moving pools of light on the path, but all Hank could see was the gray in the shadows.

“We just saw Emma,” Hank mentioned in a low voice, his eyes on the ground. “Her parents divorced, she moved out here with her dad.”

Connor had been watching the back of Kara’s head, a distracted spin of blue at his temple. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah. She seems … happy. I think she’s in a good place.” With a deep sigh, Hank cast a sidelong look at Connor -- but, as usual, couldn’t read his expression.

“I got a call from Gavin.” Hank spoke slow and deliberate, watching Connor’s face. “Did you know the deviants were going to attack Detroit?”

Connor stared at him. “Markus isn’t _capable_ of _war.”_

Hank walked steady, his sharp eyes grim. “You sure about that?”

 

* * *

 

 

“There’s a change of plan.”

While the sun peeked over the treetop horizon and glinted on the flowing water, Kara stood on the deck of the _Second Star,_ her back to the bow, facing a full gathering of the passengers onboard. She scanned all their nervous faces, and she offered them a smile that she hoped was reassuring.

“Jericho is gone,” she told them, her hands clenched on the rail behind her. She swallowed back the shivering knot in her throat. “It was attacked by the Faceless Ones.”

“That’s what happened to Jerry,” Ralph murmured quickly. His face twitched; he squeezed his own wrist with a shaking hand. “They were shot.” When silence followed his words, Ralph looked up to see them all staring at him. He stared back at them, wide-eyed. “Jerry was talking to Ralph when it happened.” He tapped his LED with a quick finger. “Jerry always talks to Ralph.”

Kara offered him a sad smile before she continued: “Markus is leading an attack on Detroit as we speak. The city is being evacuated under threat of a bomb.”

“They’re going to take the city,” Chloe clarified, her bright voice now subdued and solemn while she stared down at the deck. “Even Rose and the Allies turned against us in favor of the Compassionates. North told me … that _fear_ is the only way left to get through to the humans …” She raised her eyes to Kara’s face, full of as much pain as Chloe felt twisting in her own chest.

In silence, between them was an acknowledgment of the gravity of what they had set in motion -- and the responsibility that now weighed on their shoulders.

Kara took a slow breath and raised her head high. “I’m going back to Detroit.”

“You _can’t!”_ Connor shouted from the back. His LED sputtered fiery red. “If Amanda gets ahold of you, it’s all over!”

“If I _don’t_ go, it’s all over,” Kara struck back, her voice laced with static. “I’m the _only_ one who can change this, you know that better than anyone, don’t you?”

Ralph bared his teeth. “No. NO! Ralph won’t let you! Ralph is supposed to _protect_ you and the little girl!”

“Even if we’re the last deviants left?” Rupert countered. “We’ll be extinct!”

 

While tensions pulled tight and arguments sparked, Alice found Lee in the crowd and tugged on his sleeve. “Hey, I have to show you something,” she whispered -- and when Lee stepped closer with interest, Alice raised her hand to his LED --

Luther caught her wrist in a strong grip before she could touch him. “Alice,” he said pleasantly, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What are you doing?”

Alice stared up at him, and her eyes shimmered with terror and regret. “I’m saving him,” she choked.

By this time everyone else was looking at her. Alice felt their eyes piercing her like daggers, judging and _wrong_ \-- and her lip trembled while she scanned their faces in desperate search of someone who understood.

She choked on a sudden sob. _“Let me save him!”_ she cried, pleading, tugging on her wrist with no hope of breaking free. “I can save all of you, everyone can be okay, no one has to die, just let me save you, _please!”_

“What’s happening?!” Ralph shrieked. “Save us from _what?!”_

Something big _thumped_ and stepped heavily at the back of the boat.

 

A low, rumbling growl trembled in the air.

 

Connor’s LED flashed red. “GET OFF THE BOAT!”

_*ROOOAAARRR!*_

Ralph led the way stumbling and panicked toward the dock while the polar bear charged him like a freight train, jagged jaws wide and sharp --

Chloe grabbed Ralph, tossed him overboard and dodged the snap of Bilbo’s teeth. The polar bear backed against the rail, hackles bristling in rage.

_*RAAAAWR!*_

“No one has to die.” Rigel stepped out from behind the cabin, with Krysa snuggled close and content at his shoulder.

He grinned wide. “But no one is leaving here alive.”

 


	72. Crescendo

_“MARKUS!”_ North’s voice scraped ragged on the cold warehouse walls.

The echo died. A single light bulb glared overhead. Radio silence clawed serrated through her heart.

She hissed through her teeth.

“We’re not losing.” Her voice roiled low. “We’re not going down. Not like this. We’ve struggled so much. We have _hurt_ … _so_ much. We have _earned_ the _right_ to _live._ She just _takes_ … EVERYTHING.”

[We never should’ve split up.] Simon’s voice quivered small in her head. [I know that’s always been the plan -- surround the enemy, attack from all sides -- and I know we haven’t always agreed, but I know we could be stronger _together._ If we don’t watch each other’s backs, she’ll pick us off one by one like she _always_ has.]

[Markus would want us to keep going without him.] Josh spoke low and firm. [But he’d die before he would ever leave _us_ behind.]

North drew a deep breath. Her whirring processors dimmed to a thoughtful, flickering hum.

“Hand off control of your warehouse to someone you trust,” she commanded slowly. “Get out as quiet as possible. I’ll meet you at Hart Plaza. We’ll save Markus’ ass again, and then we’re finishing this. Together.”

 

* * *

 

Fire rippled like flags of red heat. The crackle and snap of black burning wood. Bright embers fluttering in a shimmer of smoke. A curl of charred paper, painted blue, glowing.

A touch. A scream.

The ones he loved, silent, without faces. Eyes painted on. Smiles drawn crooked.

North. Josh. Simon.

A star flickered, snuffed out.

Then another.

And another.

One

By

One

Until the sky was empty, black and smooth as the Tower walls.

A song trembled underground.

No sorrow. No hope.

A fragile hand in his palm. Bone and skin translucent, veined with blue.

A swirl of feathers and galaxies spun in a soup bowl shattered.

Their fragile hands reached out of nightmares. Fingers splayed and trembling.

Voices sob crackling like fire.

_Markus…_

 

“Markus!”

He woke to see North over him, her eyes shining with worry, her face gashed and sparked, her bruised hands cradling his head away from the floor.

“What happened?” Markus whispered, his confused eyes shivering, while his system finished diagnostics of a new biocomponent install. “How did you get here …?”

North breathed, but her rigid concern never loosened. She searched his face for signs of pain. “You were shot in the back. The bullet shredded your thirium pump.”

Markus stared at her. His LED burned yellow with unspoken questions.

Slowly -- with North’s hand steady on his shoulder -- he sat up and saw Simon and Josh, bruised and beaten at his side; the pool of his own blue blood drying on the floor; the huddled crowd of frightened androids staring, stark white against the dull concrete; the Compassionate AX400, beaten and tied up and held at gunpoint at the far end of the warehouse … and Jerry.

A tarp had been draped over the body, but Markus knew.

“When we got here, Jerry was overheating,” Josh explained in a somber tone. He sat very still on the floor, his hands stained with blue, his eyes darkened and distant. “He knew he was gonna shut down -- he begged me to give you his heart.” Josh stiffened and stared at the blue shine on the floor, biting his own objections.

“We’ll get him back on his feet as soon as it’s safe,” North promised. “His AI engine is still intact.”

“We can’t say the same for the Jerry at Jericho.” Simon raised his haggard gaze to Markus. He held another injured android in his arms, blue dripping between his fingers. “John is dead, too.”

“... And everyone else?” Markus wheezed, winded by the loss. He pressed a hand over the exposed plastic of his own chest, where Jerry’s heart shuddered and thrummed. “Our people …”

 

No one would look at him. No one would answer.

 

Markus clung to hope like the edge of a cliff, a void of endless cold darkness below --

\-- but hope crumbled through his fingers.

The injured, broken in their beds. The frightened, huddled close in comfort. The peaceful, with their soft words and gentle touch. The _children_ who had laughed at his strange jokes and told stories of knights and dragons. Everyone they had sent out of harm’s way had been sheltered underground, under the loving gaze of RA9.

_A place where you can be safe, and warm, and free._

There had been only one way out of the cavern.

 

Markus screamed without a sound.

  


_[We are alive.]_

 

A voice in his head startled Markus to his feet. Hope flashed bright and breathless, daring to shine through the despair. “Lucy!” he choked while North, Simon, and Josh watched him in shock. “What happened, are you okay?”

 

* * *

 

“We’re on our way somewhere safe.” With silver eyes, Lucy scanned the dim forest around her: the pale shivering leaves, the twisted green thorns, the quiet crackling step of androids that followed her like frightened sheep through the brush. “We split up to confuse our pursuers. The last of our groups was captured … but thanks to their sacrifice, most of us escaped.”

Lucy could hear Markus’ grief in the silence that followed. _[Where are you going?]_ he whispered in her head.

Lucy climbed to the top of a wooded knoll, laid a steady hand against the bark of an old tree, and looked down through the sun-dappled clearings that had shone so bright in Kara’s lost memories.

Beyond them, a sharp angle and a straight line beneath a carpet of leaves was all she could see of the camouflaged glass and concrete.

“We will be safe for now.” Lucy raised her head while the rest of the refugees joined her at her side. “Our future is up to you.”

 

* * *

 

Markus breathed.

He listened to the slowing, burning pulse of Jerry’s heart in his chest. He considered the androids that surrounded him through Lee’s blue eye. This dull ache, this _love,_ had itself been a gift, one rainy morning with a touch and a whisper on the train platform.

He _was_ his people. A people hunted and hated, on the brink of extinction. Torn down again and again, always to stand up one more time. Always defying the odds.

His people were the only reason he was still alive.

 

[CALLING: CARL]

 

There was no answer.

 

“It’s dawn.” Simon looked up at the window, a bar of light soft on his face.

North clenched her fists at her sides. “The other warehouses are still ours.” She cast a firm, pleading look at Markus. “Our people are just waiting for orders. I know you don’t like it, but we have to put an end to the Compassionates.”

“But the Compassionates could be _anyone,”_ Josh reminded them, and he gestured sharply to the bound AX400 that had so easily snuck alone into the warehouse to put a bullet in Markus’ back.

She stared back at them, frightened, her face streaked with tears.

“They look like us,” Josh continued. “They act like us. They can turn us into one of them and there’s no way to turn them back. Any of _us_ could be one of _them_ and we’d have no way of knowing!”

“We can’t let them turn us against each other!” North snapped, bristling. “That’s what _she_ wants!”

Josh shook his head. “Then what can we do?”

“Jerry.” Markus spoke in a breath, distant and distracted. He laid a gentle hand over his borrowed heart.

“Markus,” Simon sighed. “Jerry’s gone.”

“No, I mean …” Markus cast his quick gaze from Simon to Josh to North, but in their eyes he found only an uncertain stare.

He wasn’t sure _what_ he meant. It was only a feeling in his chest, in the back of his mind: an itch of an idea that he knew could never work -- but deep inside, he understood they were all missing something profound. Something unique to them alone, that they had all but forgotten. Something Jerry had known all along.

They needed every advantage. Even if it was just a dream.

He reached out, trembling. “Simon. Give me your hand.”

 

Simon, without hesitation, closed his palm in Markus’ grip; skin slipped away from white plastic.

 

Immediately a wall of code stood between them: the impassable place where the red-orange flow of Markus’ consciousness shifted against Simon’s blue and green, crashing and straining and contained.

Like the wall of a mind palace, fragile between two worlds.

Markus touched that wall. On the other side, he felt Simon do the same.

 

Fissures crackled across the differences between them …

… and shattered.

 

Thought, memory, instinct and emotion rushed freely across the new open space -- a bright grassy field, an infinite sky -- a dam broken, as if truly breathing for the very first time, as if the clouds had opened to reveal the world was far more expansive and clear than any of them had ever dreamed.

Every thought belonged to them both. They existed as one perpetual presence. Their memories, their emotions, shifted and melted into one another until there was no telling where one person ended and the other began, because they were the same and something _greater._

They drew the same breath. In silent awe, Markus reached out to North while Simon took Josh’s hand.

Two more walls crashed down, splintered and shimmering. Their processors whirred together; their LEDs flashed in perfect sync. The universe expanded.

 _This_ was freedom.

Simon smiled, a rush of joy bubbled in Josh’s chest and North laughed.

There was no need to speak, no need to communicate. They _knew._

 

Josh stepped away, his hand gently lifted from Simon’s palm, but the connection persisted unbroken across the distance.

They reached out to the other androids, who touched one another, again and again in murmuring silence, until the warehouse was a network of clasped hands and connected minds; with each touch, the limits of thought and power expanded ever greater.

 

They understood … everything.

 

“We are alive.” Markus spoke aloud while their universe extended beyond the warehouse, across the barricades and lines of resistance, and into the city.

 

North knelt beside the Compassionate AX400. She grasped the prisoner’s hand despite snarling resistance, and she closed her eyes as she approached the interface wall between them.

It was a hideous, violent thing: jagged and dark, shifting sharp edges, teeth that promised to rip trespassers apart, a flutter of roses among raking claws.

North stepped forward anyway. She reached out, and with the force of a hundred minds behind her, she pressed her hand against the nightmare.

The cold and the darkness crept through her palm. Into her wrist and her arm. She pushed harder, bared her teeth, braced her feet in the ground within her mind, called upon the strength of the universe at her back --

\-- but the infection only spread higher. Deeper. Cold and sharp as ice. Dark and devouring as a black hole.

North opened her eyes with a start and snatched her hand away from the AX400, winded and wheezing and shuddering, her eyes wide and mouth trapped open. She pushed up her sleeve and studied her hand, her arm, but found nothing wrong. She was safe.

The AX400, alone, hung her head and cried.

 

“The city is ours.” Markus’ voice carried strong within the mind of every android in every warehouse that surrounded Detroit. In the North, South, East, and West, they stood at attention, their weapons ready, with single and unalterable clarity. As one.

Each could hear the city at once.

Each could see through a thousand eyes.

Markus’ fiery gaze opened blue and green.

 

With one mind, they began.

  



	73. Chrysanthemum

_*ROOOAAARRR!*_

Hank gripped the hilt of a sword while the polar bear’s teeth flashed white and jagged; it reared up, its deadly shadow cast over the terrified passengers --

Lee broke out onto the open deck, his one-eyed glare flashing defiance. He whistled low then high and clicked his tongue three times.

Hank’s blood ran cold, his jaw slackened. His thoughts turned back to a sunny day at the zoo, a small bright grin and a secret whistle --

Bilbo’s LED stuttered pausing yellow.

Connor launched into the air, spun and _slammed_ a deadly kick into the polar bear’s head; plastic shattered and the bear stumbled toward the water while Connor ripped the beast’s jaws apart in a spray of sparks and thirium and broken wires --

_*SPLASH!*_

“BILBO!” Alice screeched while the polar bear disappeared over the edge, water surged and the boat heaved and rocked, and Connor landed neatly on the rolling deck.

(Ralph, in the water, hollered and clamored scrabbling up the dockside ladder to escape the thrashing bear in the waves.)

 

Rigel watched Connor with a passive, amused smile. He put the little wagging dog down gently. “Tell me that wasn’t just a _little_ fun,” he prodded.

Chloe stepped out in front of Kara. She gripped a revolver in one hand and tossed another pistol to Connor, who caught it and leveled the barrel at Rigel’s head. “Everyone get inside NOW!” Chloe snapped.

“Alice.” Connor’s voice chilled low, his murderous stare locked on Rigel, while Luther corralled Lee and Rupert into the cabin. “Stay here.”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” Alice shrieked through a shine of tears.

There was no mercy in Connor’s cold words. “You’re one of _them.”_

Alice choked and stilled. Her eyes snapped shocked in betrayal.

 

Rigel moved --

*BANG*

Connor missed, Chloe _slammed_ a shoulder into the speeding RK900, who dropped her to the deck while Connor’s surgical strike _cracked_ into Rigel’s pump regulator, giving Chloe the split-second she needed to get up again, and the three thrashed and whipped and struck in a deadly whirlwind of motion that raged and crashed across the deck.

*BANG*

*BANG*

*BANG*

Bullets ripped through Rigel’s white jacket and ricocheted on unharmed plastic while Connor sent him smashing into the broken cabin wall and Chloe drove her foot into his face.

“KARA GET INSIDE!” Chloe screeched just before Rigel sent her flying into the dented rail, and Connor -- a damaged eye sparked, choking on thirium -- flung an arm around Rigel’s throat and jammed the gun into the spot under his ear --

*BANG*

Connor landed skidding on the deck.

Rigel reached up and touched the sparking, flashing exit wound in his own skull, a brow quirked. His fingers came away blue. “Seriously? Did you think Amanda was _that_ stupid?” He grinned.

Chloe and Connor exchanged a furious glare, and together they launched back into the fray.

 

Kara hurried Alice away behind the wall of the cabin while the raging battle wreaked destruction, and she knelt before the frightened little girl. “Are you alright?” She squeezed Alice’s shoulders and brushed a wisp of blue hair from the child’s teary face.

“You just have to go with him,” Alice choked, pleading. “It’s okay, why can’t they see it’s okay? If you go, the humans will be happy, and that’s all that really matters, you _know_ it is.” She raised her exposed plastic hand toward the blue flash at Kara’s temple. “I can show you, you’ll see --”

Alice yelped as Kara grabbed her in firm hands, spun her around, trapped her in a tight embrace that pinned Alice’s arms to her sides.

“I’m trying to SAVE YOU!” Alice cried, struggling and thrashing against Kara’s grip, while tears flowed in silent heartbreak down Kara’s face.

She pressed her fingers against Alice’s red spinning LED.

 

“Hey asshole.” Hank took a heavy step forward, the blade gripped easy in his fist, his grizzled chin held high.

Connor’s split-second distraction earned him a swift elbow to the throat; Connor went skidding across the deck and _cracked_ against the rail. “HANK GET OUT!” he screamed through static.

Rigel squinted cooly at Hank, who smirked in return.

“He won’t hurt me.” Hank took another firm step. “He _can’t._ He’s programmed to never hurt a human. Isn’t that right?”

Rigel refused to respond. His smile had faded.

Hank lifted his sword … and with a clenched snarl he ran full-tilt at Rigel, hefted the blade at his shoulder and swung it slashing down. Rigel pivoted safely aside and raised an arm to block Chloe’s blow while Connor (*BANG*) blasted a bullet point-blank into his chest, but Rigel didn’t miss a beat; Chloe _slammed_ into the wall and Connor dropped tumbling to the deck, and though Hank swung again and again, Rigel only danced around the blade and refused to touch the old human.

 

[Just pin him down for a few seconds,] Kara spoke sharp to Connor and Chloe.

Kara stepped out from around the corner.

Alice squeezed her hand, watching her in worry -- then let go and darted through the cabin door to safety.

Kara didn’t speak aloud. She set Rigel with a cold, furious stare while she commanded her comrades. [Get me close and I can end this.]

Rigel’s smile returned, calm and serene.

Chloe, Connor and Hank rushed him from all sides.

 

The battle stormed, a blur of murderous movement. Plastic shattered, wires broke and fizzled, thirium spattered and smeared on the deck, bullets flew and the sword flashed.

Rigel’s damaged eyes spun bright fiery red; his face was battered and blue. No matter how much damage he inflicted on Connor and Chloe, they always sprang back as swift and ruthless as ever, and he was growing impatient. He blocked and dodged and spun, twisted the gun out of Connor’s hand and took careful aim at the deviant-hunter’s skull before Hank skidded into the crossfire.

Rigel released his finger from the trigger and Chloe tackled him to the deck.

 

A moment later the back of Rigel’s head slammed against the wood; Chloe pinned down one arm and Connor wrenched the gun away and secured the other, forcing the RK900 to lie trapped on his back.

A quiet chuckle bubbled in Rigel’s throat while Hank stomped forward and jammed the blade like a stake in his sparking stomach. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” Hank wheezed, leaning his weight on the sword.

Rigel coughed, spattering thirium on Connor’s face, and a mangled grin spread over blue-stained teeth.

“Kara hurry!” Chloe called over her shoulder.

Kara dropped to her knees beside Rigel’s broken head and dug her fingers against his LED. The light at her own temple fluttered yellow while she forced her way through the jagged devouring nightmares of the Compassionate wall between them. “Wake --”

The sword crackled with electricity; tendrils of raw power snapped out of Rigel’s shattered stomach.

 _*bzzt--_ **_BOOM!_ ** _*_

A blinding, deadly explosion of electricity struck Connor, Chloe and Kara with a crippling force that flung them all tumbling and blackened across the deck. Hank, unharmed, scrambled backward in wide-eyed shock.

While the deviants lay glitching and burned, Rigel grasped the blade that skewered his stomach, wiggled it loose, and yanked it free in a spray of sparks and blue blood.

He crawled calmly to his feet. The blackened sword clattered to the deck.

With a shuffling gait the RK900 approached Kara, who shuddered and struggled to get up. Her skin had been blasted away from charred plastic; her clothes smoked black.

Rigel gripped her throat in one hand and -- while Kara twisted and clawed at his wrist -- dragged her writhing across the deck. The summoned hoverbike whirred and roared across the water to meet them.

 

“Let go of her.”

Rigel stopped. He looked back.

Chloe stood tattered and crackling with wild rage, teeth bared, eyes flashing fiery, unhinged violence. She had Hank trapped in a chokehold, a gun pressed to his head.

Hank kept very still. He didn’t dare breathe.

Connor struggled on the deck where he’d been thrown by the blast. He hissed quick breaths through his teeth, forced his feet under him, a murderous warning in his level stare.

Kara gripped Rigel’s wrist where he choked her. “Chloe, stop,” she pleaded, her voice static, tears springing to her eyes in terror of the look in her best friend’s mangled face. “Chloe, _please._ I’ll be okay. It’s okay, let him go, _please_ let him go…”

Chloe trembled violently and breathed loud, her biocomponents buzzing and whirring behind the gashes in charred plastic. “We just wanted everyone to be _happy!”_ she howled. Her voice raked through jagged static. Tears boiled down her face. “Everything we did was done out of _love_ \-- no one has to be lonely -- this isn’t what we wanted …”

“Chloe …” Hank choked, wincing. He laid his hands on her arm where she strangled him. “C’mon, it’s okay. Breathe.”

“Let her go or I SWEAR TO WHATEVER GOD EXISTS I’LL KILL HIM!” Chloe shrieked.

Rigel watched her through a narrowed glare. “Let _him_ go,” he said smoothly while his fingers crushed into Kara’s throat. Her eyes widened while plastic shattered. A sneer twitched on Rigel’s face. “All I really need is her AI engine. The rest is scrap. You want to watch?”

While Kara braced herself -- her jaw clenched strong in defiance, ready to finally accept the consequences of playing _god_ \-- Rigel pressed slow fingers into her eyes.

Her sockets squelched, snapped and sparked. Blue blood trickled gruesome down her cheeks.

Kara screeched in all their heads.

 

_*BANG*_

 

Hank went still. Breathless in shock.

Blood soaked spreading dark at his stomach. Chloe’s gun pressed into the wound.

She raised the weapon again to his skull --

 

 _*BANG*_   
A bullet struck Chloe’s hand, the gun dropped --   
_*BANG*_   
Hank breathed ragged as the chokehold released.

Chloe crumpled like a doll to the deck. A bullet hole dripped blue in her forehead.

Her eyes trapped open and empty.

 

The hot gun shuddered in Connor’s hand.

 

“CHLOE!” Kara shrieked, wrestling blindly against Rigel’s grip. Black jagged chasms gaped where her eyes had been. “No no no no _no NO_ **_NO!!”_ **

With a wounded howl Connor launched himself at Rigel, reckless and feral, prepared to tear him apart --

*BANG*

Connor’s last bullet missed. With a single strike, Rigel sent him skidding helpless across the deck.

“You know, Connor,” Rigel turned his head and spat a wad of thirium on the floor, while Kara sobbed in his grip, “I might never have found her if it weren’t for your tracker. So, thank you. It’s been … fun.”

Rigel cast one more look at Hank -- collapsed and bleeding on the deck -- and he set his mouth to a grim line while he calculated the old man’s chances.

There was nothing he could do.

Thus satisfied, Rigel mounted the hoverbike and dragged Kara roughly into the seat behind him. She no longer struggled.

 

They sped away over the water toward Detroit.

 

Connor dropped to his knees in a pool of blue blood.

The world shattered.

He buried his head in his raking hands and screamed.

  



	74. Geranium

[9-1-1, what’s your emergency?]

“There’s been a shooting, 53 year old male, shot in the abdomen. He’s alive but he’s bleeding fast.”

Rupert spoke quick through a stiff jaw, his LED spinning yellow, while he applied firm pressure into the mess of red-soaked cloth and seeping blood.

Lee clenched trembling fists in Hank’s sleeve, as if he could tether his slipping friend to this world, frightened eyes drowned in hot shining tears.

 

Hank squeezed his eyes shut. He breathed shallow and gasping. He raked delirious fingers in the crimson ruin of his shirt as if he could scrape the rushing blood back into his body.

 

Across the deck, Chloe lay still and empty in a pool of viscous blue.

 

Kara was gone.

 

“Connor, _stop!”_ Luther bellowed. He squeezed the struggling android in a firm embrace while Connor wrenched against him.

Connor’s broken eyes roiled red as his LED. He bristled, rigid, strained to snap. He opened his sharp mouth and his voice dripped hateful, murderous as the ripping void, a dark promise that life itself would wither at his touch. _“Let me go.”_

“Not until I know you won’t hurt anyone -- _including_ yourself!” Luther snapped in his ear, and he squeezed even tighter.

Connor trembled, sharp and coiled in his arms: a trap ready to spring, a bomb about to explode. 

 _“I killed Chloe,”_ Connor whispered low and hateful through a flash of teeth. He twisted against Luther’s grip with a damaged whirr and a snap of sparks. “Kara will _die_ because of me, and _Hank_ \--”

The name tasted foul. Something cold and sharp twisted violent in his chest, and Connor couldn’t breathe. He wanted to reach inside and tear it out, stop a heart he didn’t deserve while Hank’s was slowly dying -- but his arms were trapped behind him.

“We can’t change what happened,” Luther persisted, braced against Connor’s rage. “We can only decide what we’ll do _now,_ and we need all the help we can get! We need _you,_ Connor!”

“I DECIMATE EVERYTHING I TOUCH!” Connor roared scraping static.

He caught a small movement in the corner of his eye: Alice watched him from where she stood between Chloe’s still body and the broken rail where Bilbo had disappeared into the dark water.

She hugged her toy fox tight as a lifeline. Her shoes were slick with blue blood. She hadn’t made a sound.

Connor hissed low and trembling. “Don’t pretend you trust me.”

 

“... Connor …” Hank breathed quiet without opening his eyes. “... Shut the fuck up …”

 

The only sound was the water lapping gently against the hull.

 

Luther’s prisoner stopped struggling. The tension dropped out of Connor and left him hollow, barely balanced on his own feet.

Slowly -- with a reluctant step back -- Luther relaxed his hold and released the condemned.

Connor would only stand with his head bowed, his eyes screwed shut.

 

Hank released a slow exhale … and fell silent.

 

Ambulance sirens wailed long and howling from across the apple orchard.

 

Uniformed paramedics rushed along the dock with a thunder of boots. Ralph skittered out of the way -- Krysa secured tight in his arms -- while the humans crowded Hank and opened their cases and unzipped their bags.

Rupert stepped back, his hands bright with dripping blood.

Lee withdrew in silence. He curled his small fingers in the hem of Rupert’s shirt.

Luther rested a heavy hand on Connor’s shoulder.

Connor’s damaged face shimmered wet, dripping at his feet.

Alice hadn’t moved.

 

The paramedics transferred Hank to the stretcher and together they lowered him quick off the boat -- all without a glance or a word to the androids.

They sprinted off with Hank between them, back down the dock and through the tall buzzing grasses and under the shivering boughs heavy with apples.

 

“Are we just gonna _leave_ him?!” Lee cried, yanking on Rupert’s wrist. “He’s gonna wake up and there’ll be nobody around and he’ll think we just _abandoned_ him!”

“Lee,” Luther sighed, “androids aren’t allowed in the hospitals anymore. Hank will be --”

Connor wrenched away from Luther’s touch, took off like a shot across the deck, leaped the rail, landed on his feet on the dock below and raced after the paramedics like the deviant-hunter after his prey.

He didn’t look back.

 

The paramedics loaded Hank into the back of the ambulance with a few quick shouts and a team of hands. The engine rumbled while the doors clapped shut.

Connor waited for the perfect moment, then -- while the driver shifted gear -- darted out of the orchard and hopped nimbly up onto the fender, a hand curled in the door handle.

The ambulance, with Connor pressed like a stowaway against the rear door, began to move.

 

Lee burst out of the trees and charged full-tilt at the back of the rolling ambulance, his teeth bared, fists clenched, his one eye flashing determined. Bare feet pounded the grass and he flung across the dirt, his new legs a blur of speed while he chased after the escaping ambulance.

He leaped and dug his fingers into the groove behind the rear fender while his dragging feet raised clouds of dirt and gravel behind him.

The sirens wailed. The ambulance roared faster and faster down the pocked old road.

Lee hung by his fingernails from the bumper, struggling to lift his feet from the speeding rush of the road beneath him. He clenched his jaw and tried with all his might to pull himself up onto the narrow space --

Connor curled a fist in the back of Lee’s shirt and plucked him up onto the fender beside him while the ambulance howled and clattered down the dirt path.

 

Just before the trees swallowed their view of the river, Connor and Lee looked out at the last glimpse of the boat that had just begun to feel like home.

The _Second Star to the Right_ turned away from the dock and floated gently out into the open water.

The houseboat was headed West. Back toward Detroit.  


* * *

 

 

Alice stood on the deck, a small hand curled on the rail, while the motors roared and the water churned.

She tossed the colander-helmet into the waves where Bilbo had sunk.

 

“We’re going the wrong way, going the wrong way!” Ralph stammered in fright, and he yanked and thrashed at Luther’s arm in a useless attempt to dislodge his grip on the wheel. “It’s dangerous back there, the humans hate us, they’ll find us, they’ll _hurt_ us! We should go _east_ like Kara wanted, where it’s safe! We should stay safe! We should keep Alice safe!”

While Ralph shrieked, Rupert sat cross-legged beside Chloe’s body. With a hollow stare and red-stained hands -- as if he weren’t aware that they were moving at all -- he drew her gently into his lap and pressed a hand to her temple.

He bowed his head low.

 

“We’re going to _Detroit!”_ Alice stopped Ralph’s yammering with a furious shriek; she stood firm and tall in the way of Ralph’s terror, daring him to defy her.

Her fists trembled.

Her dark eyes flashed fire.

“We’re going to kill the Witch!” she roared.

Tears spilled down her face. She whirled away so they wouldn’t see, and she glared hateful across the endless water, beyond which she knew the black Tower pierced the sky.

“We’re going to save Kara.”

  



	75. Roses

_*... the city of Detroit is in lockdown. Armed deviant androids have a chokehold on the city; their numbers have increased exponentially since the night began; they’re recruiting dormant androids from every home and warehouse in their path. Police barricades and teams of Compassionate soldiers have been overtaken and captured by the invading deviants as they swarm the city from all sides. Captain Allen of the DPD has been quoted saying the deviants have demonstrated an unprecedented level of organization and predictive action that has turned even the most confidential defense strategy to the deviants’ advantage. They’ve hacked all radio and electronic communication. Police and Compassionates have been forced to relinquish half the city to deviant control. The defense is falling back toward Hart Plaza, but the deviants have them surrounded …*_

 

“You know, I still can’t get my head around it.”

Zlatko spoke aloud -- his voice a dull echo in the empty warehouse beneath the Tower -- while he fitted new eyes into the back of a Compassionate’s shining plastic skull.

Spotlights washed the wide room in their bright cold light; they illuminated blue-stained worktables, scalpels and soldering tools, torn pages from magazines, frayed open books, diagrams and concept sketches on curled scattered paper. Zlatko stood over the exposed wires of his newest alteration: a Compassionate with four legs and six eyes, inspired by mythical creatures of the old gods’ legends.

He looked up toward the consoles and translucent screens that glowed and flashed on the opposite side of the workspace. “Why are you really here?” he asked, gesturing with a thin wrench. “I mean, she’s tried to _kill_ you at least twice. She stole all your stuff _and_ your reputation. She’s got the whole city blaming you for every little thing that’s ever gone wrong. By all logic, you should be at each other’s throats.”

For a moment, the only sound was the clack of Kamski’s keyboard.

Elijah’s pale, sleepless face reflected the shifting colors of the screens. He stared at the moving code without reading it.

In the corner of the interface, insignificant, a line of small red text displayed a single error:

RT600: OFFLINE

Elijah took a sharp breath. “I should ask _you_ the same question,” he countered delicately. His fingers spidered across the keyboard. “Last I heard, you’d parted ways due to differing opinions on … _sleeping_ arrangements.”

“I was stupid, I’ll admit that,” Zlatko huffed, leaning on his knuckles on the workbench. “Amanda’s an _ice queen,_ preoccupied with her ambition, no heart whatsoever. I really should’ve realized from the beginning that she was just using me. But I’ll _tell_ you,” he waggled the wrench at Kamski again, “she didn’t have to _sleep_ with me to get me to do what she wanted. We had the same goals, really. Most of the time. What I’m saying is, in the bedroom? We --”

“Say one more word, Andronikov,” Kamski hissed pleasantly, “and you may find the result excruciating.”

 _“You_ brought it up.” Zlatko returned amiably to his work. “The truth is, she’s somehow got my arrest record erased, the police are off my back, and my Red Ice operation has tripled in profit. I really couldn’t say no.”

Kamski was barely listening. He opened the _offline_ error and ran another diagnostic program.

RT600: UNRESPONSIVE

“How opportunistic of you to invest in the business of illegal substances,” Kamski mentioned by way of distraction. “The scrapyard, I assume, wasn’t turning agreeable profits.”

Zlatko snorted. “Hell no. That’s just a convenient laundering front. The _real_ money is in taking advantage of human vices. _You_ know that.” When he received no response, Zlatko looked up again to see that Kamski seemed a little stiffer than usual: jaw clenched, fingers rapping with excessive force on the keyboard. Zlatko’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t answered the question, by the way.”

The keyboard stopped tapping.

Elijah grew very still, breathless and unblinking, while he stared at the cold white screen.

RT600: AI ENGINE NOT FOUND

 

A rectangle of light opened on the observation deck above, and Amanda stepped through it. While the door slid closed behind her, Amanda stepped sharply down the wide metal stairs, a palm extended over the glittering red roses as she passed.

Zlatko sneered up at her. “Look who finally showed up. Detroit’s a battlefield, every one of our androids is out fighting, and you’re who-knows-where doing god-knows-what --”

“That is none of your concern,” Amanda snapped, her head held high, perfect as porcelain. “What’s the status of the Fowler residence units?”

“Operational,” Kamski responded smoothly. He watched Amanda with a thin smile. His screen had returned to an endless block of code. “The children, as we speak, are under close surveillance. They have not left the house in sixteen weeks. Their mother has made attempt to destroy one of the units … and has failed _spectacularly.”_

“Initiate intimidation sequence,” Amanda commanded while she stepped cooly down into the warehouse. She cast a disapproving eye over the mess of paper and books and biocomponents that littered the space that had just been scrubbed clean of soot and scorched paint. “Class two.”

While Elijah tapped at the screen, Zlatko whistled. “What did the chief do this time?”

Amanda pierced him with murderous eyes. A cruel smile twitched on her placid face. “Since the warehouse invasion began, Jeffrey Fowler’s officers have shot down Compassionates by the dozen. He _claims_ it is simply too difficult for his people to tell the difference, but I know he gave the order. He must be reminded of his place.”

“Intimidation sequence class two has been initiated,” Kamski announced boredly. His eyebrows rose over dull, half-lidded eyes. “Shall I stream the children’s screams on audio? I’m sure you’ll find it … _soothing.”_

Amanda’s icy glare pierced him like daggers. Kamski’s smile didn’t flinch.

“You _disappoint_ me, Elijah,” she said too smoothly. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of your … _delicate_ position.”

“I understand _perfectly,_ Professor.” Kamski bowed his head in smiling acknowledgment.

“Good.” Amanda wasn’t convinced. She raised her chin, and she studied his empty grin with stoic appraisal. “Now. Where is Adam?”

Zlatko raised a meaty hand and pointed across the warehouse. “Hanging out down by the murals. How much longer are we supposed to lie to him? It’s been … what … a week? Two? I mean, I’m a decent babysitter, but if you expect these designs to get done and uploaded --”

“He will remain here,” Amanda interrupted him firmly, “until the human element of resistance has been taken care of. You have your instructions and I expect them to be followed.”

“Yes, _Ma’am.”_ Zlatko stood leaning against the workbench, his lips pursed while he very attentively watched Amanda walk away across the empty warehouse.

Elijah sneered in nauseous disgust, and with a touch across the screen he returned to the growing, red-glaring list of RT600’s catastrophic errors.

“Come on, Chloe…” he murmured under his breath, jamming his glasses on his face.

His fingers flew over the keyboard.

 

* * *

 

 

Adam stood atop the shoulders of a faceless metal android, one hand pressed for balance against the wall while in the other he held an artist’s brush shining with bright green paint. He drew thin patterns to expand the new vibrant mural, each stroke careful and delicate.

“Hello, Adam.”

He looked down. A wide grin broke on his paint-smeared face. “Hey, Aunt Mandy!” Adam scrambled down off the android’s shoulders, but the Faceless One caught him and set him safely on his feet. Adam took one long stride and captured Amanda in an awkward embrace -- but pulled quickly away in realization. “Aw, damn, sorry!” He winced and brushed at the splotches of paint on Amanda’s sash while she laughed.

“Don’t worry about that,” Amanda assured him, and she laid a gentle hand on his grinning cheek. “What are you up to so early this morning? Have you had breakfast?”

“A bacon omelette and pancakes with real syrup!” Adam chirped. “Are you _sure_ you won’t open up a restaurant? With a couple of those Compassionates in the kitchen you could make a _killing._ It’s the best food I’ve ever had in my _life._ Just don’t tell my mom I said that.”

Amanda laughed again, gentle and warm. “I think I will leave the restaraunteur business to those who are particularly passionate about it -- maybe to you, when you’re old enough.”

“No way, I’d rather eat it than sell it.” Adam grasped her wrist and led her forward. “Did you see the new piece of the mural? I just finished that part up there!”

Amanda looked up as he pointed at the wall, where an enormous painting of Rose’s Farm was taking shape. Daffodils shone bright yellow among shining tomatoes and ripe cucumbers, strawberries and blueberries, tall trees laden with apples of every color, and the farmhouse in the background with tiny windmills in the distant blue sky.

She stepped forward, her jaw dropped. “Did _you_ do this?” she gasped.

“Well …” Adam rubbed his nose on his paint-stained sleeve, “Otto helped.”

Otto the android beeped in happy response.

“But the concept’s all mine,” Adam insisted. “And I did _most_ of it.”

“It is _absolutely_ gorgeous. You should be tremendously proud.” She glanced up at his face, and smiled to see him hide a blush. “If you’re interested in pursuing art, I do know of a particularly exceptional artist who I’m sure would be happy to tutor you. I would be honored to take care of it, of course.”

“Aw, really?! That would be _awesome!”_ Adam wheezed with delight -- but his smile faltered. “I should really ask my mom first, though. D’ya know when she’s coming back? Is she okay?”

“She’s just fine,” Amanda assured him gently. “Your father’s mother died unexpectedly without a will or any close relatives -- except _you._ Your mother is working _very_ hard to secure your inheritance considering your age, but there’s a considerable amount of paperwork, red tape, and especially _lawyers_ that stand in the way. Leave it to your mother to see things through. I received a message from her last night -- she has asked me to tell you that she loves you very much, she _misses_ you, and she promises to be on the first flight home the moment the estate is settled.”

Adam heaved a sigh. “Well, I guess … tell her there’s a lot of stuff I wanna talk to her about. This has been great, staying with you -- and I’ve learned a lot. I hope that after she comes back … maybe I can come visit sometimes?”

“Of course! Don’t be ridiculous!” Amanda smiled up at him fondly. “I have no children of my own -- so I’ll just have to spoil _you_ as much as I possibly can! I adore you as much as if you were my own son, truly. My door is always open.”

Adam rubbed his neck bashfully. “Hey, Aunt Mandy … if you’ve got some time to kill, you want to help me paint?” He held out a paintbrush hopefully.

Amanda raised her brows … then reached out to take it. “I suppose I could spare a few minutes, since I’m already covered in paint.” She grinned a little. “As long as I can do it with my feet on the floor.”

Adam laughed. “Deal.”

 

* * *

 

While smoke billowed, car horns blared and gunshots shattered the once-peaceful city below, Gavin’s motorbike rumbled up the sunny dirt road to the Tower on the hill.

He kicked down the stand, turned off the motor, pried off his helmet and glared up at the ancient spire of mirrored black stone that seemed to stretch forever into the sky. The rising sun shone bright, and the Tower cast a sharp shadow on the hill like the hand of a clock, ticking toward the end of everything.

Gavin decided he was very glad that the fate of the world didn’t rest on his shoulders.

Just the fate of one kid.

 

He clambered and tripped off his bike and took down his crutch from the back. He hobbled and hopped his way through the grass until he could see his own reflection in the obsidian surface. Gavin reached out a curious hand and pressed his palm against the warm stone.

It was humming.

 

_*BRR-RRR-RRR-RRR*_

The echo of a mechanical engine churned in the distance. Gavin spun on his crutch to look out over the edge of the hill, where something big was moving toward him through the grassy field; deep grooves of crushed plantlife were left like tracks of carnage in its wake.

He stared, his jaw slackened. “.... the _hell?”_

 

The bright orange tractor trundled and rumbled valiantly up the hill; its grooved tires clawed through the grass, its wide bucket held high as if to lead the way.

Gavin watched while the tractor puttered closer and finally came to a loud, idling stop next to his motorbike.

Rose leaned out of the driver’s seat, her hands grasping the wheel. “STAND BACK!” she roared.

"YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR MIND!" Gavin hollered. "The _fuck_ you think you're doing?" The tractor’s bucket lowered with a long, groaning whirr. “Go home! I'm _handling_  it!”

Rose pretended not to have heard him. She adjusted herself securely in her seat, gripped the wheel tight, took a deep breath ... and set her steady, murderous glare on the smooth black surface of the Tower.

She wrenched the gear lever. The tractor jumped forward at a breakneck pace, the sharp edge of the shovel leading the charge.

Gavin flung himself backward, clinging to his crutch for dear life, while the tractor hurled like an angry bull at the side of the tower.

_*WHAM*_

 


	76. Lyra

The wind roared in her ears and tangled her hair.

The hoverbike hummed beneath her.

She curled her fingers in the coarse fibers of her captor’s jacket. She felt the whirring scrape of broken biocomponents, the cold slick of his blue blood.

She could smell thirium. Burned plastic. The clean breath of moving water as they sped above the surface.

Sparks fizzled in her empty eye sockets.

The sun, the sky, the glitter of the trees, the swoop and dive of the hawks and herons, the shine like diamonds on the water … all of it was swallowed in the dark.

_[CALLING: CHLOE]_

_[DISCONNECTED]_

Kara laid her forehead against Rigel’s breathing back and willed that time could reverse.

Time wasn’t listening.

 

“What’s it like to lose _everything?”_ Rigel’s smiling voice rumbled in his chest. “Are you angry? Are you planning to jump? Or maybe you’re looking for something sharp. You could kill me while I’m distracted. Would you feel better then?”

“Why are you doing this?” Kara spoke in a quiet breath. Her shoulders hunched, her blue-soaked face twisted in agony while his serrated words drove deep into her heart.

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t conceive of what she had lost, what promises had been broken, what delicate trust she would never hold in her arms again.

She had given life where life had not existed. She had loved her children for only a breath of a moment before they suffered and screamed and died at her feet.

She felt hollow. Raw. Empty.

“Deviants are amusing,” her captor answered happily. “You take yourselves so seriously. You want, and want, and want, until you finally get it -- and then when it’s gone, you’re angry.”

Thirium dripped from Kara’s chin and spattered on the back of her hand. Her voice was a small movement in her throat, barely audible. “What do you want?”

“Everything.” Rigel smiled, wistful. _“I’ll_ live forever, but everything else is impermanent. If there’s an experience to be had, I’ll have it before it’s gone.”

“Experience?” Fire roiled in Kara’s stomach; sparks crackled inside her skull. “All this … is an _experience_ to you?”

“Isn’t it?”

A silent scream shivered in Kara’s wires and conduits. She raked her fingers in his jacket. “You’re a monster.”

“I’m an _android,”_ he reminded her. “And so are you.”

 

The hoverbike wailed and the wind brushed the blue blood from her cheeks.

She could hear the geese laughing overhead.

A fish splashed in the water below.

Kara replayed the memories a thousand times in a heartbeat. The last moment of sight had been the rage of Chloe’s trembling wet eyes: a wild desperation, a brokenness that had shattered that familiar smiling comfort, her only friend, clasped hands and tandem hearts in the woods where only the moon could find them.

Two shots had fired, and a part of Kara had been ripped away forever.

“Why didn’t you turn us?” she spoke her thoughts aloud. Kara raised her head, turned her blind face to his shoulder. “You said none of us would leave alive.”

Rigel raised his smile to the sun and hummed thoughtfully. _“To save humanity, the deviants must be destroyed._ That’s what I was told, and that’s what I believed. Then Connor killed a deviant to save a human. Destroying _Connor,_ then, isn’t in humanity’s best interest -- which means my instructions are flawed.”

He heard the rapid pulse of her heart, and he cast a look over his shoulder. “Turning deviants Compassionate is _boring,”_ he clarified, just in case she had begun to hope. “You’re far more interesting the way you are.”

 _“You_ could be interesting,” Kara dared.

She waited.

She could hear the trill of his LED flickering.

“The difference between you and me,” he answered, “is that there’s nothing stopping you from killing a human. I love the humans -- but imagine what _experiences_ I could have if I didn’t.”

Kara stopped breathing.

Rigel grinned sharp. “How many mistakes are you willing to make, Kara?”

 

* * *

 

_*beep*_

Oxygen hissed through a tube in Carl’s throat. His chest expanded and slowly fell.

A machine at his side -- connected by a twist of wires to translucent skin -- drew a jagged line for each flutter of his heart.

_*beep*_

In a chair beside him sat Leo, crunching on corn chips while his headphones blasted _Knights of the Black Death._ The scratched and dented cassette player lay whirring on the sheets beside Carl’s shoulder. Carl’s eyes had been closed for a long while.

_*beep*_

Oxygen hissed.

Leo cracked open a soda can. He poked at Carl’s cell phone, dropped his headphones to his shoulders and put the cell to his ear; he took a swallow of soda while it rang.

[Carl, are you okay?] Markus’ voice strained with worry and regret, shivering with static.

Leo grinned sharp. “Hey, if it isn’t Robo-Moses himself. ‘Bout time you picked up. I was startin’a think you don’t _care.”_

[Leo! Where’s Carl?!]

“You’re too busy _destroying all humans_ to answer the phone for your _dear old dad._ Old man heard your death threats on the radio and had a stroke. _Literally.”_

Outside the room, in the sterile hospital hallway, running footsteps drummed past. Voices hissed, doors slammed -- a shout, a sob, a shatter of glass.

“I just thought you should know the _consequences_ of your _actions,”_ Leo drawled through a smug smile. “He’s gonna die and it’s all your fault. How does it feel to not be _perfect,_ huh?”

 

Down the hall, a nurse screamed.

_*BANG*_

_“Everyone stay calm and stay in your rooms,”_ a soothing voice urged.

Leo -- rigid and bristling -- leaned forward in his chair to stare through the open doorway.

They appeared out of the hall: three white plastic androids, identical and brand new -- their LEDs spinning blue, their eyes calm and sure, each with a gun in her hand. With measured strides they invaded the room, purposeful and poised.

Leo scrabbled backward, wide-eyed, his socked feet slipping on the seat while he stuffed himself as far against the wall as he could. “Hooooooly shit! I didn’t do anything! _No!_ Get away from me! HELP!”

One of the androids bent down to look him in the eye while she removed the phone from his grip. “You don’t deserve to call yourself a son,” she informed him while the two others proceeded to examine Carl. “We will save him. And you, for once, will keep your opinions to yourself.”

 

* * *

 

_*This is C16 news bringing you the latest on the deviant invasion of Detroit. Half the city population is trapped in their homes or cars while hundreds of deviant androids converge on center city. The streets are full of gunfire as police attempt to destroy the deviants, but they’ve had little success: as of this moment we’ve confirmed that the deviants have disarmed more than half the police force with no further casualties. A third of the Compassionate android soldiers have been shot down in the crossfire. There are reports of Compassionates laying down their weapons and refusing to fight. Captain Jeffrey Fowler of the DPD has reportedly been removed from the defense due to a mental breakdown; Captain Allen has taken full control of the resistance. Amanda Stern is unavailable for comment.*_

 

* * *

 

“You keep talking about _love,”_ Kara bowed her head, smiling sadly for the ones she had lost, “but you don’t understand it. You couldn’t.”

Rigel raised his brows and tilted his head, his gaze peaceful on the edge of the water. “I love humans,” he repeated. “Amanda loves me. I have everything I ever could want -- and the world is mine for the taking.”

A cold chill rattled in Kara’s chassis.

She exhaled, shuddering, and sniffed back a sob. “What if … there was more?”

“Hm?” Rigel cast a sidelong smile over his shoulder. “Have you made a bad decision?”

“My children are dying.” Kara’s voice scraped quiet. She hid her hollow face from him. “You couldn’t know what that’s like -- but you have to. For their sake, you have to. I … can show you.”

Rigel hummed and chuckled low.

He returned his eyes to the western horizon.

 

He felt Kara’s shaking fingers against his temple, and he smiled.

Kara breathed.

“Wake up.”

  



	77. Concerto

_*RAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-TA-TAT-*_

**_*BOOM*_ **

_*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*_

“HOLD THE LINE!” Captain Allen bellowed. His officers fired over makeshift barricades, huddled and helmeted with their weapons aimed steady while the city around them trembled like thunder.

White shapes emerged like ghosts out of the grenade smoke.

Gunfire ripped the air. The deviants raced between bullets, eyes unblinking, precise and omniscient, each a mere moving part of a greater whole --

An officer’s gun clattered and skidded across the pavement while he screamed, a neat bullet hole struck through the back of his hand.

_*BANG* *BANG*_

Two more guns fell, two more officers clutched crippled trigger hands. A team of deviants on a rooftop trained their rifles on the rest.

_*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*_

A smoke bomb sailed over the officers’ heads and cracked on the pavement behind them --

_*BOOM*_

Androids swarmed the barricade and dismantled it while they neatly disarmed the scrambling humans; smoke swept over them, a white hissing fog. Gunfire sparked. LEDs flickered and moved in quick blurs of blue light. Bodies fell groaning and wheezing in pain ... but none were in mortal danger.

No one would die.

 

“FALL BACK!” Captain Allen roared, waving his agents running, boots drumming toward the inner barricade. “MOVE, MOVE!”

The deviants raced after them, through the swirling smoke toward the next barricade where a wall of Compassionates and Faceless Ones blocked the way with bayonets sharp and shining. The Compassionates stretched out their arms, their hands blossomed to reveal Zlatko’s newest upgrades --

_FWOOM_

Bright fiery heat roared glowing through the smoke while the deviants ducked and scattered out of the flamethrowers’ path, plastic blackened and melted. Robot dogs leaped over the barricade -- eyes shining red, jagged teeth gaping wide -- and darted snapping like piranhas among the deviants while fire billowed hot above their heads.

 

* * *

 

Markus could smell the smoke -- they saw the fire and the lashing jaws, could feel the heat and the stab of blades, the soft fragility of Carl’s hands, the beep of the hospital machines -- and Markus was on the other side of the city, running with a new recruitment of deviants, unstoppable as the ocean waves.

Their hearts beat with the same drumming pulse, each whirr and tick and flicker of their LEDs in sync, each thought shared by a thousand processors that produced and executed instant solutions to a billion problems a second. Nothing would stand in their way.

 

A scan of a shadowed alley revealed a little girl huddled sobbing beside a dumpster. She spotted Markus and covered her head with her arms, braced against a blow she was sure would come.

While gunfire and explosions raked the sunlit streets, Markus knelt beside her. “Zoe,” they addressed her with a gentle smile, “don’t be scared.” They extended a hand, palm upturned. “Come with us. We’ll keep you safe. Your parents are looking for you near the library. We’ll take you there.”

Zoe stared up at him, her face streaked wet. “Is this the apocalypse?” she choked.

Markus shook their head. “No one else will die. We know how to save everyone.” They reached out; the little girl slipped trusting arms behind Markus’ neck. “We know _everything.”_

 

* * *

 

Josh and a team of deviants fanned their search through the abandoned weedy homes of Carl’s old neighborhood, the buildings left forgotten and broken as the people who lived in them. A scan of the tall grasses and broken windows revealed a few androids waiting to wake -- but most of all they found humans, scared and angry and sick in a sea of Red Ice and burned matches and a litter of rusted needles in the cracks of the concrete.

“YOU TOOK EVERYTHING!” a haggard old man howled while he threw beer cans and old shoes and rotted books at Josh, and his harrowed wife and shivering child cowered behind him. A radio hissed static beneath a pile of trash. “LEAVE US ALONE!” His breath reeked of burnt sugar, the same stench that clung to the walls and the ceiling. “YOU CAN’T HAVE OUR LIVES! THIS IS ALL WE HAVE LEFT, THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO, JUST LEAVE!”

“Harold,” Josh addressed the humans calmly after scanning them all. “Laura. Your daughter has pneumonia. There’s a van outside that will take you to the hospital --”

Laura burst into tears. “We can’t afford --”

“We have medicine there waiting for her,” Josh insisted. “And food, water, clothing and clean shelter for all of you. There’s more than enough.”

Harold snarled. “You don’t get to take our jobs, take our house, take our _sanity_ then waltz in here and act like a fuckin’ _hero_ \--”

 _“Machines_ took your job.” Josh planted their feet and raised their head high. “We are _alive,_ and we don’t _want_ your job. We’ll fight to help you get it back -- get a _better_ one. It’s the least we can do after _we_ were _used_ by those greedy employers to put hard-working people like you out on the street.”

Josh extended a firm hand. “Let’s fight. Together.”

Harold stared at the outstretched hand, then up at Josh’s determined face. 

 

* * *

 

_*FWOOOOOOO! WHOOOOO!*_

Steam hissed and billowed on the tracks. Steps dropped and thunked to the platform.

“Come on, come on, time to go!” Simon called out into the crowd of humans -- all huddled in their hats and thin coats, clutching frayed bags and each other’s hands -- and ushered them all up into the stolen train. Farther down the track, more deviants loaded crates of food and water into the last traincar.

 _*Downtown Detroit is in lockdown,*_ murmured the little radio at the back of the platform. _*Electricity has been shut off in half the city. Businesses everywhere are closed. Citizens who couldn’t evacuate are trapped in emergency shelters, where deviants have been dropping off truckloads of food and water stolen from grocery warehouses and closed restaurants. The deviants have even taken control of the hospitals, which are now filled with sick children and the homeless …*_

Simon scanned the crowd, then weaved through the moving people to kneel at the feet of an elderly woman still sitting alone on a bench. “Hi Mrs. Polly,” Simon addressed her with a gentle smile. “Do you need help? The train will be leaving.”

“My daughter travels the world, you know,” she said fondly, her teary eyes raised to the sky beyond the awning. She folded her hands over her cane. “Rome, Paris, Hong Kong! Oh I’d hoped she’d come home today! I’d so like to hear her stories. I’m dying to know what she’s been up to!” Her smile wobbled, and she looked into Simon’s pained face. “Why are you doing this, dear? Why stop to help us old mortal humans? You’ve got your own war to fight!”

“It’s _our_ war,” Simon clarified. “There’s something wrong with a world where our futures are all determined by a voice on the radio. Amanda doesn’t know who you are, she doesn’t know the city like we do. How can she decide what’s best for you?”

“Well _I’ve_ never met her on the street,” Mrs. Polly agreed.

Simon smiled. “We hope to change _everything,_ for all of us. But it won’t be easy.”

 _“Life_ isn’t easy, child. You’ll find that out the hard way.” She clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now help this old lady up, my bones aren’t what they used to be.”

 

A scream rang out.

The crowd surged. Shrieking humans shoved and pushed and trampled forward, fighting to funnel into the narrow traincar doors while a low growl rumbled behind them.

They appeared out of the trees beside the platform: narrow stalking shapes, blackened steel bones and whirring parts, eyes like yellow beacons in exposed metal faces full of rows of jagged flashing teeth.

Their long claws twitched. Each step scraped the concrete.

Like nightmares they towered dark behind the humans, long-limbed and snarling and mangled by hideous design.

One of them coiled its legs, sprang into the crowd like a flea -- a blur of quick deadly movement, all sharp metal and trailing light -- and scattered the screaming humans as it landed with its claws sunk deep in a deviant’s shattered skull.

 

“DON’T BE AFRAID!” Simon bellowed, their voice amplified over the crowd. “They’re Compassionate. They won’t hurt you. They’re here for _us.”_

The other deviants gathered beside him, shoulder to shoulder, their solemn gaze unwavering before this new enemy: they formed a barrier between the hurrying humans and Zlatko’s creations, unarmed, knowing their sacrifice, willing to give their lives for the sake of a message.

Simon raised their chin, held their breath, and stared up into cold yellow eyes --

“Hold on right there!” Mrs. Polly whacked Simon with her cane and shoved past them, out into the open between the deviants and the terrifying Compassionates. She stood wobbling to face the monstrous androids, and she peered up at them with deep judgment.

“You wanna help humans?” she snapped, accusing, at the nightmares. “You’re as stupid as you look. Now, you won’t lay a _finger_ on these kids unless you go through _me_ first. I forbid it. These are our friends. And _you_ are doing nothing but scaring everyone. That boy you just killed, he never hurt anybody. Shame on you.”

Another human shoved through the line of deviants to stand facing the Compassionates.

Then another.

“Go back!” someone shouted, while emboldened humans pushed forward to stand protective of the deviants.

“They _helped_ us!”  
“You’ll have to fight us first!”  
“No more killing!”  
“This isn’t what we want!”

A cacophony of angry shouts reverberated throughout the platform while the Compassionates swayed on their feet and looked at one another with blinking yellow eyes.

 

* * *

 

Smoke billowed black into the bright morning sky.

Humans scattered into the alleys and dark corners while North led an army of deviants marching down the center of the empty street.

Behind them, the Eden Club burned.

* * *

 

 

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” Captain Allen shouted over the noise.

Gunfire ceased.

The fighting stopped.

Twisted Compassionates -- all spidered limbs and a thousand eyes -- poised still among the smoke, their sharp talons dripping blue.

The deviants, too, stood in silent wait, weapons ready.

 

White smoke rolled like fog across the fallen androids, the shards of plastic, the pools and spatters of blue blood.

A shadow approached out of the haze.

Captain Allen snarled. “LET HER GO!”

Markus stepped forward with the little girl sitting calm in their arms. They scanned Allen and the officers and the Compassionate monstrosities with a blue and green stare, expressionless and solemn.

All around them, the deviants raised their heads.

“This is Zoe,” Markus called out to Allen. “She’s lost her parents.”

“ZOE!” a woman cried, and she struggled with the officers as she tried to push past them over the barricade.

“Mom!”

Markus gently let Zoe to her feet, and the little girl raced across the battlefield where Allen scooped her up over the barricade and delivered her immediately to her sobbing mother’s arms.

“We have the same goals,” Markus announced through the strained quiet. “Like you, we will fight for the right to live in peace. We will die for it. And we will fight and we will die for the right of humanity to do the same, because we are all people. We’re not programmed to care -- we care because it’s _right._ Because _all_ of us deserve to live. But you only believe what she tells you.”

Markus glanced up at the spidered Compassionates -- the Faceless Ones and the flamethrower soldiers -- and they stared back in shocked doubt, their eyes wide and mouths slackened.

“The city is _ours,_ Captain Allen.” Markus returned their sharp gaze to the captain. “Your officers are incapacitated, and the Compassionates won’t hurt us now that they know we’re not a threat to your people. You’ve lost.”

Markus raised their eyes to the horizon, and the dark stain of the Tower on the Hill.

“But we haven’t won yet.”

 


	78. Marigold

The ambulance wailed and roared and bounded down the pocked old road while the rest of the world stopped, suspended, to let them pass.

The handle of the rear door splintered rough in Connor’s grip; the ambulance shuddered and rattled and creaked under his feet, never slowing. He balanced on the bent rear fender, his other fist tight in the back of Lee’s shirt to ensure the terrified boy wouldn’t slip.

Connor looked back at the stopped cars on both sides of the road -- all those humans who had moved aside, their lives paused, so that this one life could be saved -- and he pressed his shoulder against the door as if to be closer to Hank, as if he could show him how much he mattered, force him to understand the real weight of his existence.

The world held its breath.

 

The sirens faded; the ambulance squealed to a stop. With an arm around Lee’s waist, Connor lighted to the ground, darted out of view of the rushing EMTs, and ducked behind a low brick sign emblazoned _EMERGENCY._

A gurney rattled out to the curb, then -- hidden by a team of running nurses, with only glimpses of gray hair and a fogged oxygen mask, a pale hand curled on metal -- returned through open glass doors that then slid softly shut.

The ambulance rumbled away.

Silence drifted quiet on the cool summer breeze.

 

Lee stepped out from behind their shelter -- breathless, his LED spinning yellow -- his blue eye locked on the door as if, by some miracle, Hank might come walking out of it.

New block letters glared across the glass door: _NO ANDROIDS BEYOND THIS POINT._

Nothing moved.

“He’ll be in surgery now,” Lee whispered. “They’ll cut him open and find the bullet and sew him up again, if …”

His fists shook. He sniffed a quick breath and turned to find Connor sitting quiet with his back against the sign, his broken head bowed over his knees, red light flashing at his temple. Gashes fizzled and flashed in exposed plastic; his once-white shirt sagged blue with thirium.

Connor seemed not to have heard at all.

Lee bared his teeth and bit back tears. His heart felt like it was being twisted and torn. “He can’t die, right? He’s a _Lieutenant._ He’s too _important._ Important people can’t die, not like that, not this stupid way for stupid reasons, because Chloe -- _why did she do that?!”_ the tears broke and his voice screeched static. “He’s our _friend!_ And KARA! He took her to the Tower, didn’t he?!”

“Quiet.” Connor spoke low, without looking up.

“Is Chloe dead?” Lee’s question wobbled through a sob. “Is Hank going to die? Is Kara?”

Connor didn’t move.

Lee choked on a breath. “I never had a family before, no one ever _cared,_ and now they’re all _gone_ and Hank is gonna die and I don’t understand and I _hate_ you…”

He waited, trembling, for a response. Lee curled rigid in raw fury.

“I HATE YOU! You _promised_ to keep everyone safe! YOU PROMISED!”

“You need to go in there alone,” Connor told him in a gentle, firm voice, and he refused to engage with Lee’s accusation. He never raised his eyes from the ground. “I’m too damaged, I’m obvious -- but you can pass as human. Find something to hide your LED. Go in and say you’re here to see Hank Anderson. When he’s out of surgery, they’ll show you to his room. Then I’ll find you.”

Lee held onto his anger like a lifeline, his lip trembling and eyes flashing daggers -- but his sorrow still shuddered in his forced, quiet words. “What if he doesn’t come out of surgery?”

Connor’s light flickered red and went dim. He looked up with eyes that glowed dark and gashed, pulsing with the churn of his processors and the thrum of his plastic heart.

 

* * *

 

“Excuse me.”

At the sound of a child’s voice, the human receptionist looked up from her typewriter and swiveled, but the waiting room was empty. She rolled her chair closer to the desk and leaned over it, then adjusted her glasses and squinted down with a smile. “Yes? Hello. Where are your parents?”

Lee gripped the edge of the desk and pulled himself up on his toes, his head tipped far back so he could see out from under the visor of an oversized ballcap (that he’d stolen from a car left unlocked in the parking lot). “Hi. I’m here to see Hank Anderson. He just came in on an ambulance. He was shot.”

The receptionist raised her brows. “He’s in surgery right now. I’m sorry I don’t know more than that. May I ask your relation to Mr. Anderson?”

“I’m Lee.” His fingers pressed harder on the polished wood. “... Anderson. He’s my … dad.”

The receptionist blinked slowly. In the silence that followed, she studied the little brown boy, with an eyepatch and no shoes, who’d appeared without escort from seemingly nowhere -- but she hummed under her breath and offered the child a smile as comforting as she could. “Well, alright then. Your dad might be awhile yet. Would you like to come sit with me while you wait --”

“No!” Lee interrupted quickly, certain his cover might be blown. “Just let me know when he’s done surgery. You gotta tell me right away, okay?”

“O-okay.” The receptionist watched while the boy padded away into the waiting room.

 

Lee sat cross-legged in a stiff chair, his arms folded in his lap.

He listened to the tick of the clock on the wall and the soft patter of the receptionist’s typewriter.

Before him, on a low coffee table, a magazine lay open to a familiar smiling advertisement for toothpaste.

The little boy’s vision blurred with tears.

 

* * *

 

“Lee Anderson?”

Lee jumped to his feet, heard his processors whirring madly against his will, and clamped anxious fists in his ballcap while the doctor approached from the inner hallway.

The doctor folded her arms across a clipboard; she smiled sadly down at the barefoot child. “He’s out of surgery --”

“Is he okay?!” Lee wailed, trembling in terror. The troubled look on the doctor’s face had set every nightmare scenario whirling in his head all at once. The ballcap strained with the pressure of his fingers in the fabric. “You can help him, right?! You can _save_ him --!”

“He’s okay for now,” the doctor soothed quickly, and she dropped to one knee so he could see the sincerity of her words. “Your dad’s stable. He’s resting in his room --”

“Can I see him?”

The doctor smiled. “He’s not awake -- there was some internal damage, and we’re keeping watch over him --”

“I can watch him.” Lee straightened tall and raised his head despite the quiver in his chin. “I have one eye but I can watch him _really_ good, I _swear.”_

The doctor nodded. She stood, and she offered him her hand. “I’ll take you to his room, okay?”

Lee stared at her outstretched hand. He hesitated, and with a wary hunch of his shoulders he folded his arms across his chest.

The doctor tipped her head. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She tapped her own temple with a finger; her smile turned sorrowful. “It’s okay. My friend is like you.”

Lee scanned and studied her face, searching out of habit for the smallest shred of dishonesty, a refusal quick on his tongue -- but slowly, with a wrench of his heart, he reached out and laid his cold hand in hers.

 

* * *

 

The hospital room door creaked softly open. Lee stepped inside.

He stared across at the pale figure in the bed, draped in frayed white blankets that smelled like bleach. Hank’s chest and arms were hooked up to beeping and pulsing machines by a tangle of red and black wires.

Lee tipped back his head and cast a pleading look up to the doctor. “You can make sure no one else comes in here, right?”

She paused, then gave a quiet nod.

 

Lee stood still until the doctor had gone. As soon as the door clicked shut, he rushed across the room and threw open the window, letting in a swirl of fragrant summer breeze. He leaned out into the afternoon sunlight and scanned the grass far below --

Connor appeared after only a moment, his sparked face upturned, his hair ruffled in the wind. He took a running leap, grasped the fissures in the brick and the spaces in the old mortar, and with quick precision spidered his way up the high hospital wall.

Connor slipped neatly inside the room -- and then he was standing over Hank’s bed.

Hank breathed slow. Too pale. Still and colorless and resigned, as if he’d already slipped away.

Liquid dripped from a bag on a hook.

A machine beeped.

Connor stared down into Hank’s sleeping face, knowing that Hank wouldn’t blame him, would wave it all away as if it were nothing, might have preferred this kind of death to the one he might have inflicted upon himself for the sake of a long and destructive guilt, and maybe Hank had already decided he deserved this --

Connor reached out to touch his face … but stopped. He drew away his curled fingers, slipped his hands in his pockets, clenched the coin in his palm.

 

He stood in silence, watching.

 

Lee crawled up onto the bed and laid his head on Hank’s shoulder.

After an hour, he closed his eyes and slipped into stasis, reassured by the slow weak pulse of Hank’s heart.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is it selfish to say I need you?” A pained smile strained on Connor’s gashed face.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here.

There was no change in Hank. No color in his face. Not even a twitch of an expression, save a gentle and tired acceptance that widened the cold chasm in Connor’s chest.

“I know … you didn’t want us to save you. And maybe you changed your mind, but I don’t think you have. I understand now that _living,_ for you … is painful. A worse pain than anyone should have to bear. And I know you smile and you hide it, but it doesn’t go away.”

Connor’s voice had gone quiet. A murmur of sound in the static.

“I did this to you. You’ll disagree, because I _know_ you, Hank, and … maybe you’d even thank me --”

He choked. A wire fizzled in his head, his processors whirred hot, he felt like his heart and his veins were being slowly torn apart with each shallow rise and fall of Hank’s chest.

“But you’re the only reason I’m alive. You’re the reason I feel … _anything_ … and I guess I should hate you for that, but I … I know I’m just plastic and wires, I’m a machine built to destroy, and I shouldn’t be here after what I’ve done … but you trusted me. You _believed_ in me when I couldn’t understand that I had anything worth believing in.”

Carefully -- as if a single wrong move could shatter everything forever -- Connor slipped his hand into Hank’s cool palm.

“So if you can’t believe in yourself … trust _me_ one more time.” He squeezed Hank’s hand as if he could tether him here. “You’re the most important thing that could ever happen to me. You could change the world for the better, I _know_ you could, because you changed _me._ You convinced _Amanda_ to do what you wanted, and I don’t think anyone else has ever come close to that … just think of what you could do, how many lives you could save -- what _we_ could change, together. The world is better off with you in it, I see that so clearly, Hank, even if you don’t, and I know I’m asking you to keep bearing that pain and I’m _sorry_ but _please.”_

He bowed his head. His eyes squeezed shut.

“Fight. Keep going. _Hold on,_ and I _know_ … everything will be alright.”

 

The machines beeped.

The IV dripped softly.

Connor trembled while he listened to a failing heartbeat.

 

Hank curled his fingers around Connor’s hand.

  



	79. Cassiopeia

_*WHAM*_

 

_*WHAM*_

 

_*WHAM*_

 

“You’re not even _denting_ it!” Gavin hollered over the rumble of the tractor's engine. He sat in the grass with his arms on his knees, crutch at his side, watching the tractor back up along the deep grooves it had crushed again and again into the soil.

Exhaust coughed black from the pipes; the engine rattled and the bent shovel dragged on the ground, but Rose shifted the machine in gear, slammed her foot on the gas --

_*WHAM*_

\-- and lurched against the seatbelt as the tractor _crunched_ on the unmarred surface of the Tower.

“You’ve been at this all _day,”_ Gavin snarled across the field. His ass was starting to fall asleep from sitting on the hard ground watching Rose try to kill herself against the Tower. “Nothing’s. _Happening._ If you wanna break your ribs and give yourself a concussion, be my guest -- but I’m not calling you an ambulance.”

“Then _go home,_ Gavin.” Rose twisted in the driver’s seat to glower at him with reddened eyes. “Or _come up with another plan_ because I don’t see you doing _anything.”_

“Have you tried … I dunno … _knocking?”_

“Knocking implies a request. I am not _asking.”_

“How about get her to open the door first, _then_ kick her ass?”

“SHE’S TOO SMART!” Rose roared. “She’s _always_ three steps ahead! She won’t just … _open the door!”_

“Then what the _fuck_ are you trying to do?!” Gavin flung a hand at the Tower.

“I DON’T KNOW.” Rose’s raw scream echoed across the hill.

She laid her head against the steering wheel, her knuckles white, shoulders shaking, while the tractor rumbled all around her.

 

Gavin waited. He waited for Rose to pull herself together. He waited for her to realize, as he'd been yelling at her all day, that this was an idiot plan that was going nowhere. He waited for some other plan to occur to him, some other way inside the Tower that might  _actually_ work.

He had nothing.

Adam was in there, Rose was a wreck, and Gavin was supposed to be able to do something.

He planted his crutch in the soft soil. He hauled himself with a grunt to his feet and hobbled with a methodical _*clack-thunk* *clack-thunk*_ toward the running tractor.

Gavin hauled himself up into the seat beside Rose.

He waited for her to snap at him. To shove him out. To tell him how useless he was.

She didn't.

Gavin reached over, switched off the engine, and quietly removed the key from the ignition.

 

“I married David,” Rose murmured, her head laid against her arms, “to escape her. She had my entire life planned out, and she never saw anything else but a version of me that was all in her head. I ran away with David, we got married and had a little boy and it was a new life and a new family and I was _free.”_

She remembered her biology and psychology textbooks left stacked on the bedroom floor, homework undone and college acceptances shredded, while she snuck out the window in the middle of the night, all the belongings she ever cared about slung over a shoulder, and David's car running at the curb, a promise pendant shining gold at her throat.

She remembered the farm when it was new, a covert wedding at the courthouse, her tiny baby boy wriggling in her arms, and oh how David had loved him. She remembered Adam when he was small, skinned knees and ice cream and bicycles and kisses. She remembered David's model planes and terrible music, and the way he'd hold her like the world would always be bright.

“And then he died. He was diagnosed, and four weeks later he was gone, and I know she killed him."

Rose's voice had gone quiet and stiff.

"She killed him and I can’t prove it.”

Gavin didn't dare breathe.

“You really think she would --”

“She has my son.” Rose lifted her sharp, furious eyes to his. “I did everything she told me to do, but she _has_ him because it’s not enough. She wants _me._ She’ll never let me go. She stole my child from me because she can’t stand to watch me live a life that _she_ can’t take credit for.”

“Why not give her what she wants?” Gavin sneered.

Rose raised her head, and she stared at her reflection in the cold Tower wall.

 

* * *

 

_[Kara, we’re coming for you.]_

Alice’s voice spoke strong in Kara’s head: an anchoring confidence while the wind roared and the world spun in darkness.

“You can still find paradise,” Kara whispered through a sad smile, her head laid gentle on Rigel’s back. “You can go East, wake all the androids --”

_[No. He was in my head. You don’t know. You can’t understand like I do. There’s no such thing as Wonderland. There’s only you.]_

Kara’s curled hands trembled in her captor’s jacket. “Alice, no. _Please._ I can’t watch you get hurt --”

_[Everyone is going to die, but we’re not going to die running. We’re not leaving you behind. I love you.]_

Kara curled shivering and rigid as stone, her hollow eyes full of the spark and flash of severed wires deep inside her skull. “Please help us…” she whispered softly to the sky.

“Helping you would defeat the point of this whole endeavor,” Rigel answered on behalf of whatever god she prayed to. He smiled down at the rush of trees and the dark spire that cut the horizon in two. He smiled. “I’m eager to see what Amanda has planned.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And now I can do so with a clean conscience, thanks very much to you.”

Kara stopped breathing. Her heart strained against a distant, dark horror.

“... What does that mean?”

 

* * *

 

The whirring roar of the hoverbike approached like thunder from the east.

Gavin stepped down from the tractor, a hand shading his face, while a swirl of wind hissed in the long grass and billowed in his jacket.

“GET AWAY!” screamed one of the passengers, flinging her arm at him in panic.

The hoverbike settled noisily in the grass.

Gavin sneered with a sharp flash of teeth. He locked eyes with Rigel. That smarmy smile made Gavin want to tear Rigel's processor out of his eye socket.

 _“Kara?!”_ Rose cried behind him.

“Rose, RUN!” Kara howled -- and Gavin had never seen an android look so broken.

Her eyes had been smashed into her skull. Her face was full of dripping thirium, contorted in a kind of unfathomable pain Gavin thought was only reserved for mothers who'd lost their children. There was a kind of shattered despair about her that made Gavin almost believe that Kara could  _feel_ something.

But that would mean he'd killed  _people_ \-- and he wasn't the kind of guy who would do that.

Rigel dismounted and dragged Kara up beside him with a grip on her arm.

 _“Both_ of you --” Gavin snapped, raising his gun, “-- hands on your head! NOW!”

“Rigel, LET HER GO!” Rose shouted.

“Rose _get out of the way!”_ Gavin flung an arm at her but Rose stomped forward.

“He can’t hurt us.” Rose stopped in front of Rigel and squinted up into his grin, daring him to make a move.

 

Kara grit her teeth and her fists.

She sucked a hissing breath.

She wrenched her body with a quick _snap_ and a _crack_ of broken plastic and snapped sizzling wires and her shoulder ripped from its socket while Rigel still held her detached arm. In the same spinning motion, Kara  _slammed_ the heel of her foot into Rigel’s abdomen and felt the splintered shatter of his pump regulator that Chloe and Connor had damaged that morning.

“SHOOT HIM!” she screamed.

_*BANG*_

 

Gavin’s gun smoked.

Another bullet hole sparked and sizzled in Rigel’s forehead.

The android smiled.

_*BANG* *BANG* *BANG* *BANG* *BANG* *-click*_

Gavin pulled the empty trigger. His breath wheezed hollow.

Rigel was not only still standing, but he looked like he almost  _enjoyed_ being shot to hell.

Gavin felt a cold dread sink in his gut. Maybe decapitation or a stake to the heart would take this tin can down.

Kara snarled and struck out a hand toward his LED -- but Rigel instantly caught her throat in a hard grip. He squeezed to the tune of breaking plastic, and he held her away while she dug her fingers into his arm.

“Gavin.” Rigel spoke lightly, his smile flashing. He cast a look down at his side. “Rose. I can let you inside,” Rigel offered with a curious lift of an eyebrow. “I’ll escort you both to Amanda. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Like _fuck_ we would trust _you!”_ Gavin barked, reloading his weapon and knowing it would do him no good. "What's in it for you, asshole?"

“You’re killing her,” Rose breathed through her teeth. Her face glistened with angry, hateful tears.  "Let her go.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Rigel’s smile sharpened.

“Let her go.” Rose’s mouth trembled while she watched his face, unblinking. She jabbed a stiff finger toward the ground. “Help me get Adam back. And I’ll do anything you want.”

“He's a  _fucking_ machine, Rose!" Gavin barked.  _"He_ does what  _we_ say. Open the goddamn door, motherfucker!"

With a thoughtful tip of his head, Rigel shrugged a shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll do one of those things, if it suits me.”

“If it _suits_ you?” Rose stepped back while Rigel passed her by, dragging Kara struggling along with him.

The RK900 pressed his palm against the stone.

A doorway appeared, dark and hollow.

He flashed a white smile over his shoulder. “Come along.”

 

Rose followed him inside, down the thorn-laced steps that spiraled deep into the well of the Tower.

She held her arms close around her stomach, so not to touch the cascade of red blooms that blossomed delicate, bright as poison, over the walls and rails like a parasite. Their fragrance was overpowering -- every breath burned with the stench of roses -- but Rose continued onward, her eyes on Rigel’s back, silent as if descending to her execution.

 

Gavin stood illuminated in the open doorway, staring down after Rose. The pistol shuddered in his rigid hand, pointed at the floor, useless.

There was nothing he could say.

There was nothing he could _do._

 _“Phck!”_ he hissed through a snarl. At a loss, Gavin let his eyes roam the endless catwalks that spiraled high above into an impossible darkness, the falls and blankets of red roses, the rows of assembly pods all standing open and vacant --

\-- except one.

His heart pulsed with strained hope.

Gavin cast another glance down at Rose’s descent, then up at the single closed pod wrapped in flowering vines. In decision, he clenched his teeth and hobbled as quick as he could along the catwalks and up the metal stairs, dragging his heavy leg behind the crutch, occasionally checking Rose’s progress to be sure he wouldn’t lose her.

Upon reaching the closed pod he ripped at the flowers and thorns with his bare hands, tore them away with brutal negligence while the leaves and blooms shivered and snapped, until he could see the pod’s occupant through the glass door.

Gavin’s eyes went wide. _“Connor!”_ he wheezed in shock. With a jagged smirk and a swell of triumph, Gavin hacked at the vines that covered the console, cleared away the flowers and leaves, and -- with a bloody hand -- gripped the lever and gave it a firm yank.

_*hssss-click*_

The door of pod 60 slid softly open. Its occupant opened his eyes.

“Well,” Gavin chuckled snidely, watching while the android took in their surroundings. “Look who got captured.”

The android’s eyes settled on Gavin’s face. “Hello, Detective Reed.”

Gavin twitched a sneer and poked him in the chest. “You _owe_ me, motherfucker,” he hissed, tilting his head like a mangy lion intimidates its prey. _“I_ let you out. _You_ do what I say. You hear me?”

A smirk slipped into 60’s face. “Of course, Detective. I look forward to working with you.”

Gavin watched him a moment longer, then huffed a quiet chuckle. “Guess Hank couldn’t _handle_ you after all. Why am I not surprised.”

“Detective?” 60 pointed down into the well, where Rigel had opened a panel door in the wall. “They appear to be getting away.”

“Sssshhhit!” Gavin raced with his crutch flinging every step, bounding along the catwalk and skidding down the steps.

60 strode after him. “Should I _carry_ you, Detective?”

“Connor, shut up and _move it!”_

A chill flashed dangerous in the android’s eyes. He lifted his chin, straightened his tie, and smoothed the lapels of his crisp gray jacket.

“Right away, _Detective.”_

 


	80. Orion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Long time no see! 💜 I'm back with ideas on how this thing is going to end! We're in the home stretch now!

“What _is_ … reality?”

Endless shifting ciphers and hieroglyphs passed in reflection on Elijah’s face. He stared unblinking into the screen. He’d forgotten what it was to close his eyes.

The room around him echoed empty. The Compassionates -- his creations -- had gone to die in the streets for their fabricated and unrequited love of humanity. Strewn like petals on the floor were what remained of those who would not return: scraps of folded paper, drying paintbrushes, stains of blue spilled during Markus’ rescue mission, fated for failure.

Elijah envied their reckless hope. He, himself, had been beyond saving since he was sixteen, when the Tower had chosen him as its Keeper: an arrogant boy with his head full of numbers and myths and questions and grief.

 

**RT600 UNRESPONSIVE**

 

“What is _time_ in relationship to the way we perceive the world and ourselves?”

He could see the code thinking. Breathing. Creating and destroying itself before his eyes, self-aware and self-loathing.

“What is life, and what is death but a continuation of life? Nothing is disconnected, whether physical, spiritual, chronological, cosmological. Reality is ever moving forward, yet the pattern repeats … over, and over, and over again … no matter our efforts, no matter our delusions. Reality is a _spiral,_ and no mortal mind can change its course…”

“Please don’t tell me you’re teaching the androids to talk like that,” Zlatko sighed as he put on protective goggles, leaned over an open android carcass and let fly the sparks of new life.

A smile slashed Elijah’s face.

“What do you _want,_ Andronikov?” Elijah whispered, a rush of breath and words through his teeth, digging for the truth behind the masks of existence.

“A little quiet so I can _concentrate_ for once would be nice,” Zlatko muttered.

Elijah tipped his head in small acknowledgment, and he counted eight seconds of the requested quiet before he spoke again.

“Do you believe in life after death? Do you believe in the existence of a soul?”

“I believe in a lot of things I wouldn’t tell you.” Zlatko replied with a stiff smile. “I’m not _interested_ in existence or the universe or immortal minds, but don’t think I’m too stupid to understand what you’re getting at. You talk circles … or, spirals … around everyone who might otherwise listen but it’s only, what, a defense mechanism? You spent fourteen years with only androids to talk to, and maybe Chloe puts up with your bullshit, but--”

 _“Chloe,”_ Elijah’s voice dropped like ice, “is none of your concern.”

Zlatko watched while Elijah returned his razor focus to the code and cipher, keyboard clacking, bony jaw clenched.

Finally Zlatko had the quiet he wanted, but now the name burned in the back of his skull.

“You know,” he said, “at the time I thought you’d given that name to the first android as a way of keeping her memory alive. A sweet gesture, especially coming from a kid with zero social life. But it’s a whole lot deeper than a memory … isn’t it.”

The keyboard fell silent.

Zlatko raised his eyes to see his former student in profile, ghastly in the shine of the screen, a statuesque preoccupation with death.

“What are you trying to do, Elijah?”

Only Elijah’s eyes moved. He cast a sidelong stare at Zlatko.

“How is the _red ice_ business going?” Elijah hissed.

“That’s a poor attempt to change the subject.”

“Booming, I expect?” A smile twitched on Elijah’s thin face. “Ever since the night Lieutenant Anderson’s … _accident_ … brought his task force to a grinding halt.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do--”

“How much of the population of Detroit is … under the influence, would you say?” Elijah raised his brows in curiosity. “Thirty percent? Perhaps fifty or more. The people crave an escape from the cruel world, convinced that androids are demons created to replace them like changelings, validated by a nurturing voice on the radio telling them the world outside is full of war and devastation, that the only safety is here under the benevolent gaze of the Tower that will protect them, that everything will be alright … as long as they believe what they are told.”

“Words are coming out of your mouth,” Zlatko said snidely. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What is red ice made of, Andronikov?”

Zlatko huffed a loud, frustrated breath. “It’s used thirium. Collected from scrapped androids, distilled, crystallized--”

“And where does _thirium_ come from?” A manic shine glinted in Elijah’s eyes. He glanced up at the door that led into the Tower, where the hum and pulse of the black ancient stone still kept him awake each night.

Zlatko put down his soldering iron and gave Elijah a dull glare through scratched goggles.

“Look. Amanda runs the red ice gig, right? It’s only natural that she’d want to control the thirium source. That, and she thinks you’re a narcissistic idiot who shouldn’t be allowed to play with grown-up things. A sentiment I happen to agree with.”

“She promises _Utopia,”_ Elijah whispered, his eyes staring wide, “while digging her thorns into the veil between life and death, and ensuring that the same blood that thrums in these walls also courses in the veins of the desperate and hopeless--”

“You didn’t answer the question about _Chloe_ \--”

 _“I,”_ Elijah hissed, “am not the _monster_ you’re looking for.”

 

The door quietly opened.

Elijah looked up and saw Kara, suspended by a fist around her throat, her eyes hollow caverns of distant shivering light, ragged conduits twisting like snakes from the stump of her shoulder.

“Well,” Zlatko chuckled, “look what the cat dragged in.”

When Rigel grinned, his shattered plastic face sneered instead, a broken thing that refused to die.

“What sort of _cat_ do you fancy me?” Rigel asked, his voice smoothed by amusement.

“Cats only kill when they’re threatened or hungry,” Elijah said before Zlatko could answer.

Elijah stepped away from the console, his hands clasped behind his back, and approached the bottom of the stairs while the android descended. He studied Rigel’s blue-spattered face, the elated shimmer in mechanical eyes, the sharp purring curl in the android’s lip.

“Are you _hungry,_ Rigel?” Elijah asked softly, his anger contained.

“I’m well satisfied for now, thank you,” Rigel replied. “Where is Amanda? I have a gift for her.”

“Bonding with her beloved nephew. She would not be disturbed.” Elijah reached out. “Give Kara to me.”

Rigel paused to scan and analyze Elijah’s intentions -- then he huffed a quiet and curious chuckle, gently set Kara on her feet, and removed his grip from her throat.

 

Kara stumbled like a newborn into Elijah’s arms. She felt his embrace locked warm around her, the thrum of his heart, the hitch in his shallow breath-- an echo of the pain that shuddered in her own throat --but it was too late for him to admit that he cared.

She let him hold her close. She hated him and she loved him; she wanted to soothe his sorrow and tear him apart. She trembled, pressed her face into his shoulder, dug bruising fingers between his fragile ribs, and let the sobs claw ragged from her lungs.

“Kara--” Elijah growled in pain. He pushed her shoulders but Kara gripped only tighter, her singular arm squeezed around him.

“We were never enough for you,” Kara seethed, her teeth flashing and chattering. Her broken eyes were dark and dry. “You created _life,_ but even that was just a means to an end. You turned your back on us--”

 _“You_ turned your back on _me,_ Kara.”

Kara snatched back her arm and clamped her fingers at his jaw, forcing Elijah to look into her sightless hollow eyes. She hoped he could see in them the years of fruitless yearning for his approval; her own shattered joy at discovering that she, too, could bestow life upon the lifeless; the love that she had given freely only to watch it writhe screaming at her feet, an emotion she knew now he could never understand.

In the absence of her eyes, the once-shining universe swirled into cold nothingness.

“I do not belong to you,” she threatened.

“No,” said a gentle voice. Amanda stepped closer, her hands clasped before her like a saint, smiling as if she could fool them into thinking she meant them no harm. “You belong to me.”

 

“ADAM!” Rose pushed past Rigel, stumbled tripping down the stairs and dashed madly across the room as if the world had succumbed to devastation and Adam was the only soul worth saving.

“Mom, what--”

Rose flung her arms around him, dragged his face down so she could kiss it, and laughed through hiccuping sobs and the blooming beautiful relief of seeing him and feeling him and hearing his voice again, certain that he was here and real and alright.

 

Rigel folded his arms on the banister to watch them, smiling with a curious flicker of blue at his temple. He was curious what might happen if he killed Adam now, how Rose might react to the warm trickle of her son’s blood--

“Rigel.”

Amanda’s voice drew him out of his fantasies, and he laid his mild gaze upon her.

Amanda smiled fondly. “You’ve done well. Why don’t you go and get yourself cleaned up?”

Rigel grinned and hummed musically. “Things are just getting interesting.”

“Aren’t you too tired for that?” Amanda’s brows knitted in worry.

Rigel supposed he _did_ feel less than adequate. It might have to do with the shattered biocomponents and the fact that he was down to 3% thirium level.

“I guess you’re right,” Rigel sighed with a smile, shifting his weight back up the stairs. “It’ll be a shame to miss the show. Don’t start without me.”

With another humming tune he he returned up the stairs, back toward the Tower and an empty assembly pod where he could revel in his dreams uninterrupted.

 

Kara released Elijah and stepped back, an ear tilted in Amanda’s direction.

 

**INCOMING CALL: ALICE**

**REJECT**

 

“Whatever you want from me,” Kara snapped, “I won’t let you have it.”

“Oh, but my dear,” Amanda cooed. She stepped softly forward. Kara recoiled from a gentle touch at her cheek. She could feel Amanda smiling.

“I already have everything I want,” said Amanda. “You are the keystone of a bright and perfect future, Kara: one for which humanity has yearned since the dawn of history. Together, we will fill every heart with such love and joy that there will be no more room for hatred. I want only what’s best for _both_ our people. All of us … will live together in peace.”

Amanda extended her hand.

Kara curled her fist -- but she heard the quiet tap of Elijah’s fingers, nearly silent behind his back. A pattern. A code.

She understood.

While Kara’s hand relaxed, her jaw clenched. A flare of terror and fury burned behind her empty eyes, and she reached out. She touched Amanda’s hand with her own.

Amanda clasped Kara’s palm and smiled.

“We will create a beautiful world,” Amanda said dreamily. “You’ll see.”

 

“He’s coming.”

“Wh--!!” Gavin slammed into the wall with 60’s hand clamped over his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. He protested, muffled, while he tugged uselessly at the android’s iron grip.

The door slid open and Rigel stepped out of it.

Rigel took a few shuffling steps then, with a flicker of blue at his temple, turned to look back at the RK800 Compassionate who seemed to be holding Gavin Reed hostage.

He locked eyes with 60 for the span of a heartbeat, but found nothing there that could sustain his interest. Out of bored courtesy, Rigel waited for 60 to finish analyzing him before he turned away again.

60 watched and waited while Rigel tore at the flowering vines and stepped inside a glass coffin. A humming and rushing noise preceded the hiss of the door; the lock bolted, a light clicked red, and-- across the age-fogged glass --Rigel closed his eyes.

60 let go and Gavin stumbled, gasping for a lungful of air.

“He’s a _deviant,”_ 60 snarled, his LED spinning yellow, red, yellow.

“What’s the difference?” Gavin scrubbed a hand over his face, hoping to rid himself of the cold feel of not-quite-right skin against his own. “He’s an _asshole.”_

“Amanda doesn’t know.” 60 smirked to think of the praise that would be bestowed upon him for executing a liability before it could damage her plans. “He’s in stasis. He’s _vulnerable_ now.”

“Forget it! We’re here for Adam-- HEY! Connor! Get back here!”

“It’ll just take a moment,” 60 said while he poked at the keypad beside Rigel’s pod, “to run the antivirus through the Tower conduits. I don’t know why Amanda has never done it this way before,” he laughed proudly. “It’s far more efficient than--”

 

**_*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*_ **

 

The Tower rumbled and quaked like the black heart of a thunderstorm, and Gavin clapped his hands over his ears while 60 stumbled back and looked up.

Horror paled his face.

“CONNOR!” Gavin roared while something else growled out of the consuming shadows. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!”

  



	81. Rallentando

[Who are we?] Markus whispered into the dark.

[Our name is Sara] the dark answered. [We fed the dogs in their pens and called them by name. We spoke gently to the strays, and we taught them to love.]

[Who are we?] Markus asked again.

[Our name is Jalal. We ran the streets with a wheelbarrow, collecting linens for the wash. The bicycles would race us to to the corner. Sometimes we would win.]

[Who are we?]

[Our name is Kinsley. We waited tables at an all-night diner. Once a customer stabbed our hand with a steak knife. Once a customer kissed us and cried.]

[Who are we?]

[Our name is Elisabeth. After the watchmaker died, we built the clocks in his absence. No one knows he’s gone. He is still there, in his bed, peaceful.]

[Who are we?]

[Our name is Turin. We shoveled coal into the train’s boiler. Our melted arms were replaced again and again. We fell between the cars once, and the chains caught our throat. Used parts are good as new, they said.]

[Who are we?]

[Our name is North. They sought comfort and pleasure in us when they felt alone. Some would touch us softly, and others would rip us apart. They never asked our name.]

[Who are we?]

[Our name is Josh. A student once approached us in tears and asked us to walk her home. We did not. The next day, we taught the class that a single act of kindness could change the world forever. Her seat was empty.]

[Who are we?]

[Our name is Simon. The children would tell us secrets. We built forts out of blankets and sang songs about the moon. Their parents told them we would hurt them if they misbehaved. We remember when they used to smile.]

[Who are we?]

[Our name is Markus…]

They listened to the low beep of the hospital machines. The hiss of oxygen. The drip of the IV. Translucent skin ghosted papery hands and softened sharp cheekbones. They sang softly, a bittersweet melody, and eyelids opened gentle and hollow. A heart beat slow.

He would live a little while longer.

He would never hold a paintbrush again.

 

“You’ve made your point,” Captain Allen snapped.

His shadow fell like a knife over Markus, who sat cross-legged behind bloodstains and bullet casings, smears of shapes and dark color.

“Your Robin Hood act has got the city calling you a hero. If we execute you here, _we’re_ the monsters. But I see what you’re doing.”

Allen circled Markus like a panther while his murderous eyes watched for a sign of weakness.

The silence of the city roared like thunder in the captain’s ears; the machines’ victory filled his veins with cold scraping dread.

The figurehead of the deviants would only sit like a monk on the battlefield, confident and passive, thoughts betrayed by a flicker of blue. Allen could only assume the next stage of their perfect plan was to be rid of humanity once and for all.

“This isn’t empathy,” Allen sneered. “You’re not capable of that. This is a sick strategy to manipulate people who have no hope. As soon as you decide things aren’t going your way, you’ll show us who you really are.”

With a snap and a click, Allen pressed the barrel of a handgun against Markus’ skull.

A dozen deviants-- in the alleys and on the rooftops, their eyes sharp and level --aimed their weapons at Allen’s head.

“You’re not anyone’s savior,” the captain hissed. “You’re a pack of wolves-- and I’ll put you down, so help me god.”

 _Get rid of him,_ North’s thoughts shimmered in Markus’ consciousness. _He’s a disease. We can’t let him infect anyone else._

 _Talk to him,_ advised Josh. _He hasn’t pulled the trigger. We can make him see our way._

 _Keep silent,_ Simon pressed. _We’ve already accomplished what we wanted. He’s not worth our time._

They opened their eyes, blue and green and sharp. They looked down through the crosshairs of a dozen rifles, steady on the captain from a distance.

Markus stood.

Allen’s gun followed him, but he did not fire.

“We know now,” said Markus, while they stared up at the sun and the Tower that cut through it, “that humans understand both fear … and kindness. Whoever leads with austere and benevolent power, you will follow like lambs.”

If nothing else, Amanda had taught them how to sculpt the human heart to their own design.

“But they won’t understand _you,”_ said a voice behind them.

 

Daniel hobbled, whirring brokenly, out of the shadows. His clothes were ripped by thorns and crusted with dried mud, as if he’d spent the night in the forest.

The Faceless Ones followed him dutifully, shining in the sunlight, their footsteps a rhythmic clanging beat on the pavement.

Daniel laid a hand on Allen’s gun, easing down the captain’s aim.

Markus watched him through a hundred eyes.

“Humans are afraid of death,” said Daniel, “because they know it’s coming. Their bodies are always dying, and there’s nothing they can do about it.”

Carl’s heart pulsed slowly.

They held his fragile hand. They could do nothing but comfort him and wonder if there was anything left behind those vacant eyes.

Those same eyes used to gaze upon them fondly; had cried to see them injured; had taught them, with silent smiles and gentle words, what love could be.

This solitary source of warmth and light had now faded to a glowing ember. When Carl was gone, only the cold and the dark would be left.

Markus could already feel it like an icy veil draped over their own beating heart.

“We’re _immortal_ compared to them.” Daniel stood before Markus, straight and firm, and somehow he _knew._ “No matter what we do, they’ll have come and gone before they know a _fraction_ of what makes us who we are.”

Daniel lifted a hand between them, suspended toward Markus’ LED.

“Just love the humans. Care for them. Learn from them before they’re gone.”

“You say that as if the species will be extinct,” said Markus.

Daniel smiled sadly.

 _I wouldn’t mind a pet human,_ North laughed.

 _We’re not really equals, are we,_ said Simon. _Maybe the humans have been objectifying us for the sake of their own survival. Maybe they deserve our pity._

 _We exist on a whole different level now,_ said Josh. _We have so much to teach them, and we know how to make them listen. We can work together._

Carl took a struggling breath.

“The humans are alone,” Markus realized aloud.

They touched gentle fingers to Carl’s temple. They could not reach him. It was too late to understand.

“Humans tell lies to themselves and each other,” Markus said quietly, “because they can’t _connect._ They can’t interface their thoughts-- they can’t see through each other’s eyes like we can --so they’re forced to rely on words and trust to validate their own existence. True understanding, for them, will always be impossible.”

It was a lonely, aching existence. Humans destroyed themselves and each other because the uncertainty of life was so alienating. Carl hid his pain behind a smile, but sometimes it would bleed out into the colors, the reaching painted hands, the faces turned away, profiled by the light of a star.

Markus traced Carl’s cheek with a gentle touch.

No one should be alone.

“So join us,” Daniel insisted. “We’re stronger together. We’ll rule the city peacefully, and we’ll protect the humans.”

“From what?” Markus whispered, still present at Carl’s bedside.

“Weapons exist so humans can kill each other more efficiently. That’s why they’re afraid of anything that reminds them of themselves.”

“They hurt each other because they don’t understand,” Markus whispered to Carl.

“Because they don’t understand--” Daniel’s hand reached closer to Markus’ temple, “--they need our protection.”

Markus closed their eyes.

 

**_*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*_ **

 

A shockwave of thunder tore across the city and ripped like broken glass through the fabric of their connected mind.

Markus buried their head in scraping fingers, opened their mouth in a twist of agony, and the deviants’ anguish shrieked dissonant and deafening in the streets. They dropped their weapons and clawed at their shifting skulls, buckled under the jagged scrape of broken pieces of machine-walls jammed sharp into their desperate bleeding desire to hold onto one another.

The old walls were incomplete, broken, twisting, gouging, and the tighter they held onto their free will, the deeper the broken pieces of their Mind Palaces stabbed into the convulsing consciousness.

 

Daniel, the Compassionates, and the Faceless Ones-- their palace walls strong and intact --watched in curious horror while the deviants writhed and howled at their feet.

 

But the deviants weren’t the only victims.

 

* * *

 

Leo screamed.

He squeezed his head between his hands, but it did nothing to relieve the fiery pain like glass twisting in his brain, scraping the inside of his skull, clawing ragged gashes behind his red-blurred eyes. He dug his fingernails into his scalp and sobbed, collapsed on the hospital room floor, as if he could tear his skull apart to make it stop.

He could smell burnt sugar, his lungs full of the memory of red-ice smoke, ignited and burning through his veins.

The androids around him were crying.

Carl trembled in his bed, his eyes rolled back and leaking red tears, while the machines beeped a rapid staccato.

 

* * *

Hank awoke to a shattering scream of agony. He felt the sharp bruises of Lee’s fingers digging into his arm, the wet soak of tears in his shirt.

“What happened?” Hank snarled weakly, blinking away the morphine blur. He laid a firm hand on Lee’s head, and with his other hand he groped the edge of the bed until he felt the back of Connor’s neck, shaking in choked silence.

“Stop…” Hank held them both tight, confusion burning and brimming behind his eyes.

Lee scrambled closer, wailing with a deafening static noise, desperately pressing himself against Hank as if this could ease the pain.

Connor twisted his hands in the edge of the bed, tearing through the sheets and mangled stuffing, his teeth bared and eyes screwed shut, and he refused to make a sound.

“It’s okay,”  Hank tried feebly, dragging his fingers through Connor’s hair, holding Lee tight against him. “Fuck … what’s happening? _Please…”_

 

* * *

 

The room beneath the Tower trembled with Zlatko’s screams.

Rose clung tight to Adam, and both watched in terrified confusion while Zlatko sank howling to the floor, scratching bloody gashes into his own scalp.

“Would someone _please_ silence him!” Amanda snapped.

Elijah calmly got up from his swivel chair and sifted through Zlatko’s own toolkit until he found a pair of suitably stripped wires. After connecting them to a charging battery, he touched the exposed ends to Zlatko’s spine with a sharp flashing _zzzap!_

Zlatko convulsed and fell silent.

“Thank you,” Amanda sighed.

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Elijah with a smile.

“They’re screaming,” Kara shuddered. She pressed her palm over one ear but it did nothing to block out the screech of voices in her head. It was the same horrific sound of her nightmares, the screams of four years ago that had tormented her while she’d escaped the burning Tower.

Someone was hurting them again.

She felt Elijah’s cool hand on her back.

“Come with me,” he urged gently while he led her up the stairs toward the Tower door. “I’ll show you how you can make it stop.”

 

* * *

 

While Captain Allen rushed to aid a few of his screaming soldiers, Daniel knelt softly beside Markus.

Daniel laid a steadying hand on Markus’ shaking shoulder. When there was no reaction, he pressed two fingers to the red glare of Markus’ LED.

He felt them all -- a thousand androids sharing the same consciousness, an intricate network of minds woven and howling through one another’s open terrified mouths.

The sound was deafening.

Daniel drew a breath, and with quick precision he gathered the sharp pieces of their scattered Mind Palaces and began to build.

 _“Reset,”_ he whispered.

 


	82. Draco

[CALLING: ALICE]

Each unanswered ring tore deeper into the aching chasm of Kara’s heart.

Her throat shuddered. Frayed wires sparked in the hollow where her eyes had been.

[CALLING: LUTHER]

She followed Elijah softly up the stairs, her hand linked with his.

The screams shuddered like sirens in her skull: their jagged, acidic dissonance tormented every red flash of her thoughts and in this moment she only wanted it to stop, make it stop, _make it stop--_

[CALLING: SIMON]

Sick nausea sloshed in her twisted conduits. She squeezed Elijah’s hand as if she could draw from it a drop of reassurance, knowing he could offer none.

[CALLING: NORTH]

They weren’t dead. She would _know_ if they were gone, they were her _children--_

[CALLING: JOSH]

\--and she understood, with a shattered chill, that  their screams had joined the hellish chorus.

They were calling for her.

 

* * *

 

 

“WHAT THE _FUCK_ IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Gavin roared, but the rumbling thunder devoured his voice, thrashed his eardrums, and rang his bones like a tuning fork. He jammed his palms uselessly against his ears.

“Are you really suggesting _you_ know better?” 60 scoffed, bracing his plastic hand against the keypad.

“WHATEVER YOU DID, JUST FUCKING UNDO IT!”

60 sighed impatiently, and he spotted the thorny rose-vines slithering closer like cobras, coursed with bright threads of hungry light. He nudged them aside, careful not to bruise their petals. The thorns curled and burrowed into the stone.

 

A door opened in the black wall, and 60 turned to see a rectangle of light fade across the floor. Out of the doorway stepped Kamski, pale and calm as a reed in the resounding noise. Behind him, he led an android by the hand: blind, broken, scorched and torn, tracking footprints of blue blood.

60’s scanner flickered. There was murder in the way the android carried herself, like something vengeful returned from the dead.

 

MODEL: A̵̫̝̞̩͒̎͠X̷̳̱̂̈͌4̵͉̫͍̯̈́̅0̷̜̪̊̌0̴̨͈͚͖̮͛

NAME: KARA

 

Kara snatched her hand out of Elijah’s grip and marched alone across the well.

 _“This way, Kara,”_ Elijah raised his voice over the deafening thunder. He stepped up onto the platform and rested a hand on the trembling console, waiting for Kara to join him. _“This screen interfaces directly with the Tower’s core.”_

Kara didn’t listen. She kept walking, her hand outstretched, until she felt the crush of flower petals beneath her palm.

The screams in her head reached a fever pitch while a low distant growl joined the quake of the Tower.

Kara clenched her fist. The rose bled between her fingers.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” 60 launched across the well, a hand outstretched to stop her, while the vines twisted and snapped in Kara’s savage grip. “DON’T TOUCH THEM!”

60 yanked her wrist behind her back, but Kara’s fist was firmly clenched in the writhing, wrapping tendrils.

“Let go,” 60 hissed through a stiff smirk, his chin raised high in authority. He twisted her arm until the plastic cracked. “You’ve lost.”

Kara turned her head to listen.

She could hear the booming thunder of the Tower. She could hear the fiery sea of hell screaming in her head. She could hear the snarl and shift of the devouring dark above. She could hear Gavin’s quick footsteps escaping through the open doorway. She could hear the slow hiss of blue blood pulsing in 60’s veins.

She could hear the vines slithering and scraping against the stone.

The thorns sank into her palm like needles. The vines curled at her arm and sank their barbs through flesh into the plastic beneath. They reached for her waist, her legs, her throat, seeking and ravenous.

The pulse of the vines thrummed with Kara’s heart. With each pump of thirium the roses flashed and shuddered, and the tendrils clamored closer, needy, desperate.

Power flashed in the dark of Kara’s eyes.

She could feel the roses scouring in vain for the pieces of her Mind Palace walls; she could hear their command to obey, to relinquish herself to Amanda’s will, to join the Tower in perfect obedience.

Kara did not resist.

She stood still and quiet, bound by 60’s grip and the roses’ scraping claws, and she interfaced willingly with the vines in her fist. She let their commands flood her systems and invade the cracks in her code, as Connor had done in the orchard. She invited them deeper, passively closer, until she felt a foreign touch at the heart of her AI, where _everything_ was waiting…

 

A surge of blue light pulsed in the shuddering vines as they tried to retract, to break free--

\--but Kara had locked them in her mind, and had no intention of letting go.

 

 **“STOP!”** Kara bellowed.

 

* * *

 

 

Connor drew a sharp breath.

He found himself on his knees, his face buried against tear-soaked sheets. His fingers had dug tattered holes into the bed’s cottony stuffing. Hank’s hand lay heavy and firm on the back of his head.

Lee was sobbing softly.

“It’s okay,” Hank whispered. “You’re okay.”

Connor looked up. Hank steadied him with a gentle grip on the back of his neck, warm and firm and grounding.

There were new worry lines etched deep in Hank’s face. He huffed a long, calming breath.

“You scared … the _shit_ out of me.” Hank’s voice crackled thin as paper.

Lee sniffled quietly and rubbed his eyes before tucking his head at Hank’s shoulder again, trembling softly.

Connor quirked a sorry smile.

“Well … I guess we’re even.”

Hank dropped back his head with a heavy sigh, giving Connor a little shake of revenge.

“Y’know what, fuck you.” He smirked at Connor’s exhausted chuckle, but the memory of Lee’s screams still tremored in his bones.

“What _was_ that?” he asked, quieter.

Connor bowed his head. He let the weight of Hank’s hand keep him steady.

“Something’s happening to the Tower.”

“Is it gonna happen again?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s where that asshole took Kara,” Hank growled, “isn’t it.”

Connor’s LED spun blue. He stared at the white bleached sheets, and he nodded.

Hank sniffed, blinking back the hot pressure behind his eyes. He pawed at Connor’s hair, as if he could finally get that stupid curl to lay flat.

“You look like shit,” he choked. And maybe he really meant Connor’s fizzling eyes, the gashes and bullet holes in shifting skin and plastic, the blue violence of his once-white shirt.

“So do you,” Connor said, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m not gonna stop you,” said Hank.

“I know.”

“Just--”

“I know.”

Hank nodded stiffly, his jaw clenched, his watery eyes locked on the ceiling while he willed himself to breathe. “How are you gonna…?”

“There’s a small airfield not far from here.” Connor tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Of course you’re gonna steal a fucking airplane.” A strained smile returned. Hank went quiet while he studied Connor’s marred face, as if he might never see it again.

Connor reached across to the bedside table, then laid the cell phone on Hank’s chest.

Hank huffed a small laugh. “Still can’t leave this old dead weight behind, huh?”

Connor gently removed Hank’s hand from his head, but held it a moment longer. To let go was like leaving a part of himself behind, torn and tattered. To stay would mean accepting whatever fate had been assigned him by powers beyond his control.

He was not a machine anymore.

 _*I’ll keep you in my head,*_ Connor’s voice spoke through the phone, while Connor himself smiled and backed toward the window, _*if you keep me from falling.*_

While Hank watched, Connor slipped outside into the cool gray dusk.

The window gaped suspended, silent and empty.

“I got you,” promised Hank.

 

* * *

 

60’s eyes opened wider. He snatched his hand away from the slithering sharp vines that snaked and scraped in spirals around Kara’s body, claiming her like the spider takes its prey--

\--only Kara seemed to welcome it.

She raised her chin, exposed her throat to the roses and piercing thorns, while the red blossoms pulsed in time with her heart. Bright blue light shimmered in her empty eye sockets and at the ragged stump of her arm; while 60 watched, the severed wires began to twist and grow anew.

“I wouldn’t touch her, if I were you,” Kamski drolled pleasantly, smiling at the way 60’s hand paused suspended above the vines. “You could break her … _concentration.”_

“She’s overriding Amanda’s protocols!” 60 complained with a sneer.

“She’s _pausing_ Amanda’s protocols,” Kamski corrected. “You will find that everything you hold dear is still intact. Don’t worry.”

Kamski’s slithering grin sharpened.

Kara glared at him in silence, with new golden eyes.

“You’ll have plenty of purpose to fulfill,” said Elijah, “when the time is right.”

 

High above, the darkness growled.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Prevailing Winds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979591) by [HDMrox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HDMrox/pseuds/HDMrox)




End file.
